


Recompense & Reparo

by sablier_bloque



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Anal Sex, Austen-inspired, Bisexual Harry Potter, Desi Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy tries to redeem himself in a very Slytherin way, Epistolary, Frottage, Gay Draco Malfoy, Happy Ending, Indian Harry Potter, Letters, M/M, Magic Rituals, Masturbation, Meddling mothers, Mention of Child Abuse, Mention of Minor Character Death, Mention of torture, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Pining, Quidditch, Regency, Slow Burn, mention of period-typical racism, mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:22:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 48,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25230820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sablier_bloque/pseuds/sablier_bloque
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged that a pureblood wizard in possession of a slandered reputation will do absolutely anything to return to good graces.And Mr. Draco Malfoy, pureblood wizard whose reputation has certainly been slandered by The War (and perhaps even by his own actions in said war) has a plan. A list of five steps to restore the Malfoy family to its proper place in society.That is until Harry Potter comes along and mucks it all.A Regency AU, in which there are ungloved touches, letters, meddling mothers, and hope that love can somehow find a way.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 100
Kudos: 306





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [batmandeh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/batmandeh/gifts).



> Welcome to this little tale of Regency love and romance. I'm 85% done writing it, and will be posting one chapter per week, hopefully every Tuesday!
> 
> I would like to give a big thank you to [Inkpen4877](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkpen4877) for the sensitivity reading and brainstorming about this Harry of Indian descent. Thanks to [goodmanperfectsoldier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodmanperfectsoldier) for betaing this chapter! Thanks to [irishsaints](https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishsaints/pseuds/irishsaints) and [anisstaranise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anisstaranise) for cheerleading. And thanks to [Parannnah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parrannnah/works) for answering a few Regency clothing questions. 
> 
> This story is heavily inspired by Jane Austen's oeuvre, and includes a couple of paraphrased quotes. There's also a vague Hamilton quote much further down the line (because that's who I am as a person).
> 
> Finally, this is a long overdue gift to my life-long best friend. I hope it is worth the wait.

_It is a truth universally acknowledged that a pureblood wizard in possession of a slandered reputation will do absolutely anything to return to good graces._

And Mr. Draco Malfoy, pureblood wizard whose reputation had certainly been slandered by The War (and perhaps even by his own actions in said war), had a plan. It read as follows:

> _1\. Donate to, and raise funds for, a variety of high-profile wizarding charities._  
>  _2\. Ensure that the press is aware of the previously mentioned philanthropy and secure an interview with The Daily Prophet._  
>  _3\. Attend or host a number of social occasions, including, but not limited to, balls, dinners, and weddings, to remind society of the Malfoys’ place in the Wizarding World._  
>  _4\. Purchase and reclaim Malfoy Manor from the Ministry of Magic and return the estate to its former glory._

  
“I do believe it is a solid plan, Draco,” his mother said over breakfast. Her fingers clasped her tea cup so gently, he wondered how she did not drop it and spill hot liquid down her robes. “I will continue to aid in the endeavor, of course. I think we may do even better as a pair.”

While Draco had attended university in France the last few years, Mrs. Malfoy had worked tirelessly to separate the Death Eater image from the family name. She was already well known in the charity circuits and well liked in a number of circles.

“I agree,” he said. 

“Though I do think you should add something,” she said, looking at the list again.

“You do?”

“You need a wife, darling. With good social standing. Someone who will lift up our family name by association.”

“Oh,” he responded. “Yes, I suppose.” He knew that he must marry one day; he was required to secure an heir, after all. However, he had hoped that that could come a bit later in life. He grabbed the parchment and made an addition.

> _5\. Court a young woman in good social standing to ask her hand in marriage._

“Perfect,” she said with a smile.

He tried to return it, but he was fatigued from moving back to England the day before, and he had also felt uneasy since returning. He cleared his throat, unsure of how to inquire about the subject pressing on his mind. 

“What is it, dear?” She asked. 

He sighed. “How are you?” 

“I am well.”

“No.” He paused. “How are you really?”

Azkaban had not been kind to his father’s mental state, and he had taken his own life the previous year. The sickness in his mind had made him forgetful, violent, and paranoid. At times, he no longer recognised his own wife, and he had attacked her during one of her last visits. She had been frightened to return and, when they received news of his passing, had warred with guilt that she had not had the chance to tell him goodbye. 

“I am as well as I can be.”

He reached across the table to squeeze her hand and gave her a small smile in an attempt to reassure her — and perhaps himself. She smiled faintly in return. 

Mrs. Malfoy now lived in a townhome at the far end of Horizont Alley. It was much smaller than the manor, but it would be more than comfortable for most wizarding families in London. Though the Ministry took their family estate after the trials, the Malfoys had managed to keep their Gringotts vault intact. Draco attributed this to goblin reluctance in allowing the Ministry to meddle in their business affairs as opposed to kindness bestowed by the Wizengamot.

He had expected no consideration from the Wizengamot; Draco knew too well that he and his mother would be rotting in Azkaban if not for one key witness. 

Just then, a brown owl flew through the open window, interrupting his brooding with a _thwap_ as it dropped that day’s edition of _The Daily Prophet_ onto the table. The bird captured Draco’s half-eaten scone in its beak and flew away before Draco could even blink. 

“Ugh, vagrant!” Draco exclaimed, running to the window to see the owl soar above the rooftops. Though he might have expected such behaviour from a poorly trained owl owned by an indolent wizard, he expected better from one owned by a respected business. Well, perhaps _respected_ was too kind of a word for _The Daily Prophet_.

“I shall write to the _Prophet_ this afternoon about their poor training practices,” said his mother, before handing him the plate of scones to replenish the one he lost.

“No,” he said, taking another before sitting down. “Do not bother. It may be best to let such annoyances pass to aid our end goal.” 

“Very well.” 

Draco took a sip of his coffee and opened the newspaper, his eyes immediately falling below the fold to see, unsurprisingly, that Harry Potter had garnered another headline. His three years in France had been delightfully Potter-free, and, upon seeing the name, he briefly reconsidered his decision to return to England. 

When he read this particular headline, however, he raised his eyebrows and smiled. 

“Mother,” he said, placing the paper before her. “I think we have found our first project for Item Number One.”

***

The address for the office of The Patronus Charity for Restoration and Unity was a mere five blocks from Mrs. Malfoy’s home, and Draco felt a walk would be most welcome. He looked at the mirror one last time, turning his face back and forth to ensure the evenness of his sideburns, a habit he formed after a disastrous barber incident two years past. His valet, Fitzy, then helped him into his robes, and he headed downstairs to say goodbye to his mother. 

Potter’s response to Draco’s missive had been brief, but positive. A new charity often needed money and Draco would have been surprised if he had been turned down. However, Draco was still glad for the good response. The Malfoy name connected to the charity of the Wizarding World’s saviour would certainly put them on the proper path to restoration.

Draco arrived at 14 Strops Lane and frowned. The door had no signs or markings to indicate the presence of an office. He took Potter’s letter from his pocket to ensure he read the address correctly. _14 Strops Lane_. Draco returned the letter to his pocket and knocked on the door.

Hermione Granger opened it, out of breath, her dark curls escaping her chignon. If he did not know better, he would think he had caught her in a scandalous predicament.

“Mr. Malfoy!” she said. “I apologise; I must have lost track of the hour. Please come in.” 

“Thank you, Miss Granger. I hope I’m not... interrupting anything.” He prided himself in his ability to not snigger as he said it, though she did appear to be alone. The office was small, with a large oak desk in its center, overflowing with unopened mail. Two armchairs sat to the right of the door and a tea cart stood behind the desk. There was a fireplace to the left with a jar of floo powder on the mantle.

“What?” she responded, interrupting his appraisal of the room. She wore lavender robes, which complimented her dark skin, and a paisley ribbon was tied at the high waistline under her chest. She wore a small cameo on a gold chain at her neck, and her hands were covered with pristine white gloves. “Oh. No, you are not interrupting. We seem to have a niffler problem. One has stolen my purse and there was a bit of a chase.” She cleared her throat and closed the door. “And it is Mrs. Granger-Weasley now.”

Draco raised one brow in intrigued interest. “Mrs. _Granger-Weasley_?”

Her nostrils flared, and her mouth formed a thin line. “Yes, I am now married, and yes, I have retained my maiden name.” Her tone was clipped, and Draco had no doubt that she had said the same exact thing many times before. It was no wonder — Draco had never heard of such a thing, and he honestly could not believe that there had not been a very public scandal over it. A married witch keeping her maiden name! _Circe_. Of course, the Golden Trio could very well vanish their clothes and walk down Diagon Alley naked, and no one would bat an eye. There was probably nothing the Wizarding World would hold against them.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Granger-Weasley,” he said with a nod of his head. “On the marriage, not the niffler.” 

She gave him a tight smile. “Mr. Potter should be back at any moment. Would you like some tea?”

Draco was unable to answer as the door opened to Potter escorting a much older woman inside.

“Oh, let me help you, Mrs. Figg,” Mrs. Granger-Weasley said, stepping forward and grabbing a basket from the woman, which held what looked to be a part-kneazle cat. 

“Thank you, my dear,” the woman responded. “I had so much to carry today that Mr. Potter was kind enough to come retrieve me and let me side-along with him. I didn’t want to take Hilda through the floo, you see.”

Draco wondered why anyone would choose the sickening feeling of side-along apparition when they could perform the act themselves. She did seem a bit frail, so perhaps her magic was not as strong as it used to be. 

Potter fully entered the office and he looked… well, he looked quite fine, if Draco were honest with himself. He was without robes, a habit he seemed to still carry from his muggle upbringing, and his hair was still a righteous mess. But his dark green tailcoat, matching waistcoat, and cream cravat were a lovely contrast to his brown skin and made his green eyes gleam even brighter. 

“Good day, Mr. Malfoy,” he said, his hands full with two more parcels of mail. He placed them next to the desk before turning to him.

Draco responded with a slight bow. “Mr. Potter, thank you for agreeing to meet with me. And to you too, Mrs. Granger-Weasley.” 

Potter and Mrs. Granger-Weasley shared a private look between them that Draco could not quite read, though he felt it was more than likely at his expense. 

“Mrs. Figg,” Potter said, turning from Mrs. Granger-Weasley. “May I present to you Mr. Draco Malfoy? We attended Hogwarts together.”

“A pleasure,” she responded. Her voice was raspy, yet warm.

“Mr. Malfoy, this is Mrs. Arabella Figg, a longtime friend.”

“Likewise,” Draco said with a bow.

“Please come this way, Mr. Malfoy,” Mrs. Granger-Weasley said, gesturing to a door at the back of the office. He entered the room to see a fairly large oak table, surrounded with plush, upholstered chairs. The table was round and Draco assumed that was a conscious choice, inspired, no doubt, by King Arthur and his knights. “Please sit wherever you would like. ” 

“I will bring in tea,” Mrs. Figg said from the office.

As Draco sat down, he noticed a portrait on the wall. He was familiar with several faces, including Potter, Granger-Weasley, and Hagrid, but there were others he did not know, including — was that a house elf? In a waistcoat and robes? “May I inquire about the portrait?”

“Yes,” Potter replied. “This is the founding board of the charity. This is Chiara Lobosca, who oversees werewolf relations; Herky, with elf relations; Mr. Hagrid and Firenze, you know of course, with giant and centaur relations; Mrs. Granger-Weasley oversees muggle-born relations and many, many other aspects of the charity, and I am here to,” he shrugged, as if a bit embarrassed, “raise funds I suppose.”

“Use his name for good,” Mrs. Granger-Weasley interjected, giving Potter a look as if they had had this discussion before. 

“Well thank you for the introduction, and thank you again for meeting with me,” Draco said. “I have just returned to England from university, and I have been eager to join my mother to lend aid where I can to local wizarding causes. Seeing your announcement in the _Prophet_ was most fortuitous.”

“Yes, I see Mrs. Malfoy often at charity events,” said Mrs. Granger-Weasley. “Please send her my regards.”

Draco smiled. “I am sure she will be happy to hear from you. The announcement in the paper was not very detailed. Would you mind providing more information about the charity and its mission?”

“Of course,” said Potter. “Mrs. Granger-Weasley and I felt that while there was a great deal of charity work for physical restoration — such as reconstruction of buildings and businesses that were damaged in the war — there was not much work for interpersonal restoration and unity. The Patronus Charity will work to support new muggle-born witches and wizards in their assimilation to our world; to provide education to wizards on muggles, muggle-borns, werewolves, centaurs, and other misunderstood magical beings; to work with the ministry to mend relationships with those marginalized groups; to support elves working toward liberation; and to assist Hogwarts in promoting inter-house unity. We also have plans to provide monetary assistance to magical peoples who are unable to support themselves due to prejudice or other hardships.”

It was the most Gryffindor charity mission that Draco had ever heard, and his father would have sneered at its sentimentality if he were still alive. Still, Draco had a plan and he was here to see it to fruition.

Mrs. Figg arrived with the tea cart and the trio helped themselves to tea and biscuits before resuming the conversation. 

Draco took a sip of tea. “My studies at university focused on lineage magic, and I assisted Professor Henri Bernard on a fascinating study about the blood of muggle-born and pureblood witches. When it is published, it may help your educational mission to widely distribute it.”

Mrs. Granger-Weasley sat up in her seat with a smile. “Oh, that sounds fascinating. I would love to read it.”

“Of course. It should be published in the coming months, and I will ensure that you have a copy.”

“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy.”

He smiled and moved on. “Forgive me if this is too forward, but in addition to a large donation to your charity and aid to help distribute the study on lineage magic, I do believe I could be of assistance with, what did you call it? Inter-house unity.” He looked at Potter. “Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, putting aside our history and coming together for the greater good. We could host a ball in the name of unity to raise more funds for the Patronus Charity.”

I see,” Potter said with a small frown. “Mr. Malfoy, we do appreciate your willingness to help. However, we are confused about the sudden vivacity of said help.”

Mrs. Granger-Weasley nodded. “We have heard very little about you since the trial, and now you are here to give a large sum of money and a great deal of time to a charity that _we_ oversee. We have hardly had an amicable relationship before this point.” 

Draco did his best to not sigh in frustration. “Yes, well, as I mentioned previously, I have only just returned to England, and I am aware of the work my family must do in hopes of mending the damage it has done to our world. I am hopeful that you will see the olive branch for what it is, and allow us to work together for the greater good.”

The pair shared another look between them, and Mrs. Granger-Weasley gave a slight nod.

“Very well, Mr. Malfoy,” Potter said. “We have a deal.” 

***

Draco spent the following week in a number of charity meetings with cheque book in hand. He had never given so many insincere smiles in his life, which, as a Slytherin and former Death Eater, certainly said something. 

The pesky owl from _The Daily Prophet_ delivered their paper three more times that week, and it nipped food from Draco’s plate each time without fail. This particular morning it swooped in, dripped rain water all over the table, then took off with a piece of sausage firmly tucked in its beak.

“Are you sure we should not write them, dear?” asked Mrs. Malfoy. 

“No,” Draco said, angrily. “Surely we can survive until it changes its delivery area.”

“Surely we are not the only home from which it steals.”

“It probably only steals from Death Eaters,” said Draco. It seemed like an animal with a vendetta.

“Draco!”

“I know,” he said with an embarrassed smile. “I am sorry, mother.” Mrs. Malfoy did not like to speak of Death Eaters or the Dark Lord. He could not blame her, since he would be quite happy to forget that chapter of his life as well. However, his mother never took the mark. It was easier to forget when one was not forced to see the Dark Lord’s brand each and every day.

“Mrs. Greengrass has written to me. She has obviously heard news that my eligible and single son is in town and has invited us both to dinner.”

“I shall never marry Miss Greengrass. She is ghastly.”

“Well she has three other sisters, so you would have your pick. And as unfashionably desperate as their mother is, they _are_ purebloods whose father is rising in the ranks of the Ministry, and finding a wife _is_ a part of your plan.” She finished her tea.

In reality, Draco was in no rush to marry any woman, let alone Daphne Greengrass or any of her menagerie of sisters. It was the last item on his list for a purpose, and he had every plan to put it off as long as possible.

“Should you not be on your way to visit Mr. Potter?” she asked.

He checked his pocket watch. “I have a couple of minutes. I have decided to Apparate because of the rain.” 

“Very well, darling.” She stood up and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “I will be visiting Mrs. Zabini this morning, as she is under the weather. We can discuss your meeting with Mr. Potter at dinner.”

Draco bid his mother farewell and Apparated to the charity office. Now that he knew he was in the right location, he tried to let himself in. However, the door was locked. He cast a rain shielding charm and tried knocking. “Mr. Potter? Mrs. Granger-Weasley? It’s Draco Malfoy.” He checked his pocket watch again to make sure he had the correct time. What was the name of the other woman who smelled strangely? _Ah._ “Mrs. Figg?” he said, knocking again. This time, Draco heard a scuffle and footsteps toward the door. When it opened, Potter stood in front of him, his left shoulder covered in floo powder.

“Mr. Malfoy, I apologise for my tardiness. My godson was visiting and I lost track of time.” He stepped aside so Draco could come in.

“I just arrived a minute ago myself,” Draco said, casting _finite_ on his rain shield before stepping inside. “You have a bit of floo powder on your shoulder.” The glittered powder was stark against the dark cloth of his tailcoat. 

“Oh?” Potter looked down. He made an attempt to brush it off, but did not succeed.

“Allow me,” Draco said, as his wand was still out. He cast a quick _scourgify_ and put away his wand.

Potter looked down at his shoulder and grinned. “Thank you.”

Draco returned the smile and followed Potter into the meeting room past the desk which was still piled with leaning towers of correspondence. “I was not aware that you were a godfather,” he said. “Have Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Granger-Weasley had a child?” The thought of even more Weasleys running around was enough to make his head hurt. 

“No,” Potter replied. “My godson is Teddy Lupin.”

“Oh.” Draco knew that his cousin, Nymphadora, had died at the Battle of Hogwarts, but he had only met his Aunt Andromeda once and never had a relationship with Nymphadora. He had forgotten that she had had a son with Remus Lupin before their death. “I see.”

“He is a metamorphmagus like your cousin.” 

“Does that include garish hair as well?”

Potter laughed deeply, and Draco realized he had never heard him laugh in such a manner. Perhaps spending their school years in perpetual fear of his life did not leave enough time for laughter. “Yes,” he responded. “His favorite color right now is green. I am sure you can imagine the effect.”

Draco grimaced at the thought, but also felt a pang of guilt and… absence. Longing. It was often lonely to be a Malfoy. How many more people would be a part of Draco’s life if his family had not been so concerned with blood purity?

Potter looked almost as awkward as Draco suddenly felt and he cleared his throat. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

“Will Mrs. Granger-Weasley be joining us?” Draco replied, pulling out a portfolio of notes. “Or Mrs. Figg?” He was unsure of Mrs. Figg’s role in the charity, but he thought it would be the most polite option to include her.

“No, Mrs. Figg only comes to help out on our busiest days, and you are my only meeting at the office today. Hermione has another obligation.” Draco looked up from his notes in shock at Potter’s informality. It was quite strange for a man to call a married woman by her first name, even if she were his own wife. Potter seemed to notice his faux pas and gave a sheepish grin. “I mean Mrs. Granger-Weasley.”

Draco shook his head to dismiss it. “I have discussed the idea of the inter-house unity ball with my mother and we have several ideas to get us started. We would like to hold the event off Hogwarts grounds while still giving guests the feeling of being in the Great Hall. Enchanted ceilings, meals traditionally served at the school, and such. The dress code will be formal, however there will be a twist: guests will be required to wear colors that correspond to a house that was not their own.”

“Oh, what fun,” Potter said. “Does this mean Draco Malfoy will be wearing red and gold?”

“Not in a million years, Mr. Potter,” he responded with an insincere frown, and suddenly wondered which house Potter would choose. “Now, in an effort to raise as many funds as possible, guests will be competing for house points. Each galleon equals one point for their house of the night.”

“Well, Hogwarts students are notoriously noncompetitive, so I do not know why you think that would be a good idea.” Potter gave a downright mischievous grin and Draco found himself grinning back.

_Merlin._

“Well, if your house loses, Mr. Potter, it would be just like old times.” 

Potter raised his eyebrows. “Five galleons say that my new house wins.”

“Deal.” Draco removed his glove and extended his hand to shake Potter’s. Potter did the same, and when his hand enclosed Draco’s, it felt warm and calloused from years on a broom. Draco’s face heated as he suddenly remembered the last time he had touched Potter, with fiendfyre licking at their heels when they escaped the Room of Requirement. If only eleven-year-old Draco, whose handshake was scorned by Harry Potter, could see him now, placing a bet with the Saviour of the Wizarding World.

He realized that Potter’s hand was still in his grip, and he dropped it clumsily. Draco could not bear to see Potter’s face in that moment, and his eyes drifted to his notes. “We were thinking September for the party to foster a returning-to-school spirit.” His fingers flexed outward beneath the table. 

“A smart idea,” Potter said. When Draco looked up, Potter’s cheeks were dusted with pink. He feared what his own face must look like. 

“That gives us about three months,” he pressed on, ignoring the dizzying feeling of whatever had just transpired. “It is a short deadline, but if anyone is capable, it is my mother. Our most pressing order of business is to find a location, ideally an estate large enough to handle a charity ball of this size.” As he said the words, Draco felt the pang of longing for his old home, which he quickly cast aside.

“We can host it at Godric’s Hollow.”

“Where?”

“My family’s estate. My estate.”

“My apologies,” Draco replied. “I did not realize that you were in ownership of an estate.”

“It has been in my family for quite some time. I did not know about it as a child, and I was still required to live with my aunt and uncle during the summers until I reached adulthood. I have spent the last few years restoring it, as it was essentially abandoned all those years.”

“Is it difficult to live there?” Draco asked without thinking. It was more than likely too personal to ask if it was a hardship for Potter to live in the same house where his parents were murdered. 

Thankfully, Potter didn’t seem to mind. “At first,” he said. “The house is so large and I had never lived somewhere so grand. When Ron and Hermione were married, I asked them to move to the estate and take the east wing for themselves. It has made it much more bearable.”

So the Golden Trio all lived together as a happy family. _Gryffindors_. 

“And your family?” Potter asked. “May I ask where you are living now?” Of course Potter was familiar with their trials and knew that they had lost the manor. He gave testimony on their behalf, after all.

“My mother and I are in a townhome on Horizont Alley. In fact, if you are free, you should join us for dinner on Thursday.” Draco thought it best to start working on the other items on his list as well, and his mother would be most pleased.

“Oh.” Potter’s eyes widened in surprise. “I do believe I am available. May I confirm and send you my answer by owl this evening?”

“Of course.” 

Draco grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill from his bag. “Here is my address for apparition.” 

“Actually…” Potter trailed off with a nervous quiver, “would you mind if I arrived by floo?”

Draco furrowed his brow in confusion. Floo travel was more common for family, friends, and children. Not business associates. Or whatever they were. “Yes, that would be fine. I will contact the network to ensure your access to our floo.” 

Potter gave him a brilliant smile. “Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. I do appreciate it.” 

Draco could not help but smile in return, as if Potter’s happiness itself were infectious. His gut twisted in an odd sort of feeling that he could not quite identify.

***

As Draco predicted, his mother was beside herself with joy.

“Oh, Draco. I cannot believe Harry Potter will be having dinner in our home! You really have made excellent progress already.” 

Mrs. Malfoy was dazzling when she smiled, and he could not think of the last time he saw her so happy. Before the Dark Lord’s return, surely.

“I could not have done it without you. He loved your ideas for the ball,” he said, wanting to see her felicity continue. 

She stood and moved to the bureau in the corner of the room to withdraw parchment and a quill. “I shall start on the menu now. Do you know what foods he likes?”

“Roast, I believe,” Draco replied, questioning how he knew that and feeling his cheeks flush as he realized the answer. He had spent too many hours watching Potter’s every move at Hogwarts. Though Potter was not an appalling eater like his red-headed compatriot, he remembered Potter often eating as though the food may disappear from his plate at any moment. He had seen the same behaviour from starving beggars on the street, though the idea of someone starving _the_ Harry Potter had been preposterous, and he would always dismiss it seconds later.

“Very well. I will get this list to Vinxy tonight. Shall we invite anyone else?”

“I think not. Let us acclimate him first before we surround him with snakes.” Draco only saw his fellow Slytherins at formal events these days. Most who escaped Azkaban had, like them, also tried to escape the pall of the Dark Lord’s shadow. He saw Zabini and Miss Parkinson the most, and that was still very little. Still, if he invited them, they would descend on Potter for their own personal gains.

 _Which is precisely what you are doing_ , he thought with a frown.

“I was referring to _his_ friends, my dear. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley perhaps?”

“Oh, mother. Not Weasel.”

“Draco, this is business. Your personal feelings about Mr. Weasley are not as important as your plan.”

Draco had forgotten, for the briefest of moments, that there was a plan altogether. 

“If we must,” he responded. “Hopefully his wife has taught that oaf some manners since our school days.” 

His mother raised her eyebrows. “Please try to make it through the evening without insulting someone.” 

He leaned back in his chair. “I will try, but I make no promises.”

***

“Fitzy hopes Mr. Malfoy is happy with this evening’s attire,” said his valet. Fitzy was their oldest house elf and had been his father’s valet for many years. He rolled his moveable staircase in front of Draco and climbed it to knot his cravat. 

“Yes, I am pleased,” Draco said. His cream waistcoat was made of fine silk and his shirt was freshly starched, with frills escaping the waistcoat’s opening. Fitzy finished the intricate knot at his throat before climbing down, then back up again with his black robes. As evening wear, they were more form-fitting at the waist, and they fit narrowly against Draco’s frame. 

“Thank you, Fitzy. Please remind Quelter that our guests will be arriving by floo this evening so that he is ready to take their things.”

“Yes, sir.” 

Draco walked down the hall and knocked on his mother’s door. He entered when she responded, and saw Lokey, the lady’s elf, tying a ribbon at the high empire waist of her Pomona green dress robes. It was the first time he had seen her look so exquisite since his father’s death. “You look lovely, mother.”

“As do you,” she replied. “My son looks even more handsome than usual.” Draco chuckled and then heard a commotion downstairs that indicated that their guests had arrived. He extended his arm to escort Mrs. Malfoy to the parlor.

When they entered, Potter was the only person in the room. Would Draco be spared from an evening with Ronald Weasley after all?

“Good evening,” Potter said with a bow. “Mrs. Malfoy, Mr. Malfoy.” His dress robes were plain but fine, however Draco eyed his black and silver brocade waistcoat with envy. He would have to inquire about its origins.

“Mr. Potter,” said Mrs. Malfoy. “We are honored to have you in our home.”

Potter’s smile slipped for a fraction of a second, and Draco was reminded of the last time Potter graced their home, even if it was a different house. Draco’s aunt had tortured Mrs. Granger-Weasley and his family had attempted to turn him over to the Dark Lord at Malfoy Manor. He could not have happy memories of that visit. 

Draco certainly did not. He had trembled when his father had called him to identify Potter’s hexed, bulbous visage. He had spent his school years hating him, and would know his face anywhere, hex or not. However, the gravitas of the identification had not been lost on him. If he had turned over Potter, the Dark Lord would have won. When he had been fourteen, he might not have minded such an outcome, but after months of living with the Dark Lord in his home and seeing the torture and murder of countless people, he could not have been responsible for that. 

Draco cleared his throat and bowed in return. “Yes, thank you for joining us. Are we still expecting Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Granger-Weasley?” 

“Yes, I left a few minutes early since using the floo can be a bit unpredictable. They should be here any moment.” 

_Bollocks._

***

The dinner was as successful as it possibly could be. Weasley looked uncomfortable for its entirety and narrowed his eyes at Draco more than once, but no one hexed anyone or brought up the Dark Lord. _Huzzah._

Draco had been right about Potter’s favorite dish, and an unfamiliar warmth spread through his chest when Potter’s face brightened at the dish’s arrival. He then questioned when he began to care about Potter’s thoughts and feelings.

 _When have you not,_ his mind replied. He buried that thought in an instant.

After dessert, the group moved to the parlour for games. The elves had prepared two card tables in the center of the room, however Weasley’s eyes fell on a wizard chess board tucked into the corner. Mrs. Malfoy noticed and gave Draco a suggestive look.

He sighed and stepped toward Weasley. “Do you play, Mr. Weasley?”

“He’s a tip-top chess player!” Potter interjected. “He was undefeated in the Gryffindor common room.”

Draco could not see how that would be a ringing endorsement for his skill level, but his mother was looking at him expectantly. “I enjoy the game as well,” he said. “Would you care to join me?” He had more than earned an Order of Merlin, First Class, for his amiable and upstanding performance tonight.

Weasley’s eyes moved between the board and Draco as he warred with himself. He obviously wanted to play but did not want to play with him. Perhaps they could bond over their mutual feelings of disdain. “Very well,” he replied. 

Quelter floated the chess board onto the second card table and poured glasses of wine and brandy for their group. Draco heard Mrs. Granger-Weasley suggest a game of Loo and smirked. His mother was quite good in that game, and Potter and Mrs. Granger-Weasley were in for a massacre. 

Weasley gave Draco the first move. Draco commanded his first piece, then took a sip of brandy. After several further moves, he had swiped Weasley’s knight, and he gave a smug grin.

“Where have you been these last few years?” Weasley asked with narrowed eyes. “It seems as though you’ve appeared from thin air.” Apparently Weasel had never learned about polite conversation. 

“At university in France,” Draco responded.

“And your first order of business was to invite the three of _us_ for dinner? It seems an odd choice.”

Draco took a deep breath. “It seemed the logical thing to do as we are now working together to raise funds for the The Patronus Charity.”

Weasley made another move. Draco could already see that this would be a tight match. 

“And why the sudden interest in charity work?”

 _Merlin, give me strength._ “My mother has been active in charity work since the war ended. We are trying to make amends for our family’s misdeeds.”

Weasley gave a humorless chuckle. “‘Misdeeds.’ That’s one way to put it.”

Mrs. Granger-Weasley interrupted them with a squeal of delight. It sounded as if the other table was having much more fun than he was. 

“What else should I do then?” Draco asked in a low voice. The conversation and Weasley’s last move had made him nervous. He commanded his rook forward.

“Money is not everything,” Weasley said before his next move. “You hurt many people. You hurt every guest in this room. Have you ever even apologised to anyone?”

It was Draco’s turn, but he felt unable to speak.

“Have you thanked Harry for saving you in the Room of Requirement? For testifying at your trial? For keeping you out of Azkaban?” 

Anger quickly bubbled within him, and he clenched his jaw forcefully in response. Draco had had a temper as a child. He could see now, after years of self-reflection, that he had been spoiled and sheltered and an absolute arse in school. While he had worked to better himself during the last few years, he still found it difficult not to pull out his wand and hex Weasley on the spot. He tried to focus, instead, on the breathing technique he used for occlumency to compartmentalise his annoyance and ire.

“Well?” Weasley asked, waiting for both his answer and his move. 

When his anger subsided enough to speak evenly, Draco had but one answer. “No,” he replied. “No, I have not.” He called out his play. 

“Wrong move, Mr. Malfoy,” Weasley responded and stated his last command to the board. He leaned back in his chair with a smarmy grin. “Checkmate.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I think you are a danger to my forbearance, Mr. Potter._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my dear friend, [221brosiewilde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/221brosiewilde/pseuds/221brosiewilde), for the beta!

  
  
Draco did not sleep well that night. He could not stop thinking about his conversation with Weasley, and he kept envisioning his smug grin when he had won the chess match. 

_Weasel._

When morning came, he knew his mother would be anxious to discuss the events of the night before, but he did not have the heart to do so. He called for Fitzy.

“Please tell my mother that I am not well. I will receive breakfast here.” He sat at his bureau in his nightshirt and pulled out a quill and a fresh sheet of parchment. 

_To apologise_ , he wrote at the top and underlined it twice. And then he began.

> _Harry Potter  
>  Hermione Granger-Weasley  
>  Ronald Weasley  
>  Katherine Bell  
>  Madame Rosmerta  
>  Luna Lovegood  
>  Garrick Ollivander  
>  Dean Thomas  
>  Vincent Crabbe_

He then pulled out a second piece of parchment. _To thank._

> _Harry Potter_

Well, the second list was much more manageable than the first. He supposed not many people were flocking to help former Death Eaters who may or may not have been complete arses their entire childhoods. He pulled up the left sleeve of his nightshirt and eyed the Dark Mark with contempt.

He had hoped that it would disappear with the Dark Lord’s death, but there it stood, the lines as clear and black as the day he received it. And so his actions during those two fateful years would stay with him forever, no matter what he did to try to right his wrongs.

He was pulled from his reverie by the arrival of Quelter with his breakfast.

“Quelter has brought Mr. Malfoy an Out-of-Cups potion at Mrs. Malfoy’s request.” 

Draco rarely fell ill, so of course his mother assumed he had imbibed too much the night before. Well, he would continue to let her think so. This new venture felt too intimate to share with anyone.

“Thank you, Quelter,” he responded.

After he ate, Fitzy came to dress him, and he returned to his bureau to begin his task. 

He decided to start with his most egregious wrongdoings and penned his first letter to Katherine Bell. After writing a missive to apologise for almost ending her life, he did the same for Weasley. He wondered if he should also make amends for his less than idyllic behaviour at Hogwarts and figured it may be for the best. 

And from there, he continued. _I apologise for casting an Imperius curse on your person. I am sorry that my family held you captive in our cellar on behalf of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I apologise for taking advantage of our friendship too many times to count. I am sorry for unfairly judging you based on your lineage. I apologise that my aunt tortured you in my home._

Draco had stood trial before the Wizengamot and had certainly thought about the wrongness of his actions in service to the Dark Lord, but asking for forgiveness from the aggrieved was another thing entirely. Really, Draco could think of very few times in his life that he had actually apologised.

He certainly did not foresee his day shaping up this way when he sat down to wizard chess with the World’s Most Bothersome Gryffindor. He sighed and looked at the remaining name on his list. After several drafts, including one he set on fire, he finally penned a letter that he felt warranted to post.

> _Dear Mr. Potter,  
>    
>  Thank you for joining my mother and I for dinner last night. I hope both the dinner and games were to your liking and that my mother did not trounce you too harshly in Loo. We were honored to have you and we hope that you can join us again soon.  
>    
>  It has come to my attention that I owe you both an apology and a word of thanks. To begin, I am aware of our history. It has been marred by frivolous school boy spats, but it has also been damaged by my misdeeds and transgressions before and during the war. Most especially: I endangered the life of your friends, especially Mr. Weasley, and every other student at Hogwarts.  
>    
>  I was spoiled and sheltered as a child, and I easily believed my father’s rhetoric on blood purity and dark power because they were all I knew. However, when Hogwarts provided me opportunities to see otherwise, I ignored them out of a twisted sense of loyalty to my family’s ideology. In the end, that loyalty to my family is why I took the Dark Mark in a last-chance effort to save them from the Dark Lord’s wrath. I do not say this to excuse my behavior, only to shed light on the reasonings of my misguided youth.  
>    
>  Despite those wrongdoings, you saved my life in the Room of Requirement even though it required endangering your own. You later testified on my behalf in front of the Wizengamot and saved me from a considerable sentence in Azkaban. I am here today because of you, and I would be remiss if I did not thank you for your honorable actions.  
>    
>  Please accept this as my sincerest apology and appreciation for your kindness. I wait with anticipation to continue our collaboration on behalf of your charity.  
>    
>  Yours, respectfully,  
>  Draco Malfoy_

Draco laid his quill on the desk, then addressed and sealed each of his letters. He called for Quelter to retrieve them and thought it best to finally go downstairs so as not to worry his mother.

As he predicted, she was anxious to discuss the previous evening, so he attempted to keep his grumblings in regard to Mr. Weasley to a minimum. She was exceptionally taken with Mrs. Granger-Weasley’s wit and educational accomplishments. His mother, too, was a competent and talented witch, though at times he feared that she had not pursued her own talents and interests in order to stand as a dutiful wife and doting mother. Why had his father not encouraged her more? 

“Mr. Potter said that Mrs. Granger-Weasley was the most accomplished student during your years at school. It is remarkable that she is muggle-born.” They sat in the drawing room while his mother embroidered a muslin handkerchief.

Draco’s brow furrowed. “Why do you say that?”

“Well for a muggle-born’s magic to be so advanced, even compared to the pureblood students who attended with you, is practically unheard of.”

“That is untrue.” 

“How so? Was Mr. Potter not truthful last night?”

“No, mother. We are taught, as pureblood families, that our magic is better and stronger than muggleborns or half-bloods. But it simply is not true. I studied this at university.” 

“Oh,” his mother said. “But that cannot be the case,” she laughed nervously. “Surely you are mistaken.”

Draco sunk to his knees before her and removed the needlework from her hands. He had avoided this conversation for some time, but he did not see the point in furthering the delay. “Think, mother. The Sacred Eight and Twenty. You know its names by memory as I do. Now, think of the most powerful wizards of our time. Are their names on that list? Albus Dumbledore? Harry Potter? The _Dark Lord_ himself?” 

“But—”

“Give me a minute.” Draco ran upstairs to his room and returned moments later. “These are notes from my work with a professor who specializes in lineage magic. The blood of families is a powerful thing, but your love for me is no more powerful than… than Lily Potter’s love for her son. Do you know why Mr. Potter was forced to stay with his muggle family when we were not in school?”

“His protection.”

“Yes! The blood of his mere _muggle_ family protected him because it was tied to the blood of his muggle-born mother. It was so strong that the Dark Lord himself could not break it.”

“But… my family. Your father’s family. Why would we focus on our blood purity if it were untrue?”

Draco sighed loudly and scrubbed his hand over his face. He should have known that she would not be so easily persuaded. “The same reason why muggles have kings and queens and nobility. To give ourselves airs. To place ourselves at the top of an arbitrary hierarchy. And though it has no merit, it is an idea that will last for decades, if not centuries, to come.” He could see irritation blooming on her face, and he decided to tone down his rhetoric in an attempt to pacify her. He had had no intention of hurting her, he had only wished to make her understand. “Indeed, even knowing what I know now, I still consider myself to be a pureblood. I no longer believe that my blood has more power than Mrs. Granger-Weasley’s, but it was too influential in my upbringing to not consider myself as such.”

“I just… no, Draco. I cannot believe it. It cannot be true.”

Draco grabbed her hand. “I do regret that this conversation has turned this way, but I would not lie to you. I never discussed my studies with you as I did not want to upset you.” He placed the notes into her hand. “Please read these. I hope they will provide you with some understanding.” 

His mother nodded, her face pinched, and stood to leave the room.

***

Draco retired to his own room early that night, fatigued from his trying day of apologies and the unsuccessful discussion with his mother. She did not come down for dinner, and Lokey made apologies on her behalf, saying she was under the weather. Since Draco had done just the same that morning, he could hardly blame her. 

He was already in his nightshirt and reading in bed when Quelter knocked on the door. “A letter just arrived for you, sir. Quelter brought it straight away.” 

Draco thanked him and his chest constricted when he saw that it was from Mr. Potter.

> _Dear Mr. Malfoy,_
> 
> _Thank you very much for your hospitality last night. I had an amusing time, even in playing Loo with your mother. I especially enjoyed dinner as roast is my favorite dish.  
>    
>  Thank you, also, for your letter of apology and gratitude. I agree that our history has always been troubled. In our school years, you were cruel and heartless and blind to the plights of those less fortunate than yourself. However, I saw your hesitancy to kill Professor Dumbledore. I also saw you lie to your family about my identity, when telling the truth would have certainly brought the Death Eaters victory. These actions, especially the last, made it easy to not only testify on your behalf, but to realize that there was hope for you to become a better person. Your letter is testament to that belief, so I thank you again for your honesty and remorse.  
>    
>  In the spirit of reconciliation, I remember your love of flying. Would you care to join me at Godric’s Hollow tomorrow for a ride around the estate? I have a new broom to break in.  
>    
>  Sincerely,  
>  Harry Potter_

Draco smiled, the burden of his day suddenly feeling much lighter. He called for Quelter to send his reply to Mr. Potter.

***

Draco arrived at the front gates of Godric’s Hollow around 10 in the morning. He could see a fine house behind the grate - a bit smaller than the manor, but no less beautiful. The grounds were in full bloom, with luscious trees thick with waxy leaves and colorful flowers lining the path to the front entrance. The gate opened for Draco and he walked up the pathway. The flowers’ aroma wafted toward him, and he wondered if they were charmed to strengthen their perfume when someone passed. When he knocked on the door, he was greeted by a familiar elf.

“Mr. Draco,” he said with a bow. “Kreacher is happy to see you.”

“Kreacher? How did you come into Mr. Potter’s service?” 

The elf closed the door behind them.“The traitorous Sirius left his mother’s home to Mr. Potter when he died.”

“I see. Do you enjoy your service here?” Draco remembered his great-aunt’s home to be rather dark and musty. Surely this was an improvement.

“It is… acceptable,” Kreacher replied. Draco did not remember much about Kreacher but he took his response to mean that the house elf was actually quite happy here. “Please allow Kreacher to take your bag.” 

He took the satchel that Fitzy had packed that morning and led Draco to the parlor. Potter was already waiting for him in flying robes. Draco had not seen him in such attire since Hogwarts and he almost felt like he was sixteen again, subtracting the crippling fear brought about by the Dark Lord’s mission.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Potter said with a bow, “it is a pleasure to have you here. Thank you for agreeing to fly with me.” 

Draco returned the bow. “Of course. It was a most welcomed invitation.” 

“Did you bring robes for flying? If not, I am sure my valet could find some for you.” 

“I did,” Draco replied. “Kreacher has them.” 

Potter asked Kreacher to take Draco to a bedroom upstairs for dressing, and he did so right away. 

“Please wait a moment, Mr. Draco. Kreacher will fetch Mr. Potter’s valet for you.” He Disapparated with a crack, and was back seconds later with another elf. 

Like the elf in the charity’s portrait, he was wearing wizarding robes, and Draco’s head tilted in surprise.

“Mr. Malfoy, Griffel is happy to help you dress for flying,” he said. 

“Erm, thank you.” As Griffel began to disrobe him, it was easy to see that he was faster and more efficient than Draco’s own valet. He even floated mid-air to handle the top of Draco’s clothing instead of dragging about the heavy, rolling staircase. Once finished, he whisked Draco’s other clothes into the nearby wardrobe. 

Kreacher then escorted Draco to the grounds where Potter was waiting with two brooms. 

“Excellent,” said Potter once he saw that Draco had changed, moving forward to hand Draco a broom. “Here you are. I actually only have one broom at the moment. I thought I may borrow Ron’s and you could borrow mine.”

“That will work fine.” The broom was beautiful, of course, and sleek with a fresh polish. Draco had never ridden this particular model, however, and he hoped it would not be too difficult to master. 

Potter mounted his broom and glided into the air, turning around to wait for Draco. When Draco mounted his own, he shot into the air much faster than expected and his stomach jolted in surprise. 

“Whoa, this is…” 

“Powerful?” Potter answered with a smirk. “Yes, it’s the newest Firebolt model.”

Draco had not flown much in France. He had been quite busy with his studies and had not attempted to join the university’s Quidditch team. He hoped his lack of practice and the sensitive broom would not lead to disaster. 

“I may need a moment to get used to its handling,” Draco said, cursing himself at the quaver in his voice. 

“Scared, Malfoy?” he asked with a grin.

Draco heard the meaning in Potter’s voice, knowing he had just thrown his own words back at him all of these years later. He smirked and squared his shoulders, replying, “Never, Potter,” before taking off at full speed. He heard Potter laugh behind him seconds later and Draco laughed in response, drunk on the exhilaration of flying fifty feet above the ground and competing together once again. 

Potter gained on him fairly quickly. Draco moved his body closer to the broom to pick up more speed in response. He had not felt so free, so unburdened since fourth year. There was no other feeling like it.

Potter suddenly dived down and Draco could see that he was attempting to fly through a low clearing ahead. Draco pointed his broom downward to follow him, but it dipped too quickly and he started to head straight toward the ground. 

“Merlin!” Draco panicked, trying to right his broom but it refused to yield to him. No matter what he did, he accelerated closer and closer to the ground. Draco could not change its descent even by the smallest amount. 

“Malfoy!” Potter yelled above him, but Draco was too focused on trying to rein in his broom to look up. The broom would not budge from its descent.

“I can’t stop it!” Draco’s stomach lurched in fear as he was hurled closer and closer to the ground.

Then suddenly, Draco’s descent began to slow. He looked up and saw Potter’s hand stretched toward Draco’s broom, and as his hand moved lower, the broom followed until it slowly lowered Draco to the ground. Draco fell to his knees, tossing aside the broom and trying to catch his breath. As his heart pounded in his chest, he heard Potter land and run to his side. He was so shaken from the incident that he thought nothing of the fact that Potter had not used his wand.

“Are you well?” Potter asked, grabbing his shoulder and kneeling beside him. 

Draco nodded, his breath still shaky and fast. After a minute, his breathing evened enough to speak. “Is it cursed?”

“What?”

“Your broom.” He looked up to Potter’s face. “Is it cursed?”

“No, of course not. I have only ridden it once before, but it was fine.” Potter stood up and walked over to where Draco had thrown the broom to pick it up. “Oh.”

“Oh?” 

“This model has an anti-robbery function.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Really, Mr. Potter?”

“Yes, I swear it! I did not even think about it when I let you borrow it. I thought that Ron may not take too kindly to letting you borrow his broom, so I lent you mine. I am sorry,” he responded. However when he saw Draco’s face, no doubt with a sullen expression, he started to laugh. 

“I am happy that this brings you amusement,” he said with a sneer and stood to brush the dirt from his knees.

“Oh, come now. My younger self would’ve jumped with glee if he knew I had given you a ‘cursed’ broom. And I did it completely by accident.” 

“Mmm.” 

“Your younger self would have done the same had our positions been reversed. Admit it.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Very well.” It was hard to keep up with his irritation when Potter looked so… so— 

Potter laughed again and grabbed his shoulder. “It is still very fun to tease you, even if we are making amends.” He was standing so close and his eyes were so green that Draco momentarily forgot to breathe. 

So handsome. When had Potter become so handsome?

“Erm.” Draco gave a half-hearted smile and turned toward the direction of the house. “I do not think I am up for flying again so soon. Do you fancy a walk or shall we Apparate?”

“A walk would be just fine.” Potter grabbed both brooms and looked down, as if he were deciding which one to give to Draco to carry. 

“I will chance Mr. Weasley’s ire,” Draco said, holding out his hand for the other broom. Potter chuckled and handed it to him. As they walked, Draco’s eyes fell upon the grounds around them, lined with trees and hedges. “We flew for some time. Are we still on your estate?”

“Oh, yes. It is quite large. I was shocked when the solicitor told me how big the estate actually is. Ron’s jaw practically fell to the floor.” 

“Why do you call him — and Mrs. Granger-Weasley — by their first names?”

“Oh,” Potter said. He shrugged but his cheeks were tinted pink. “They are my family. If you had a brother or sister, would you not call them by their given names? We started in childhood and, after everything we have been through, it feels too formal, too detached now. We use formalities in public, but not around friends.”

Friends, Draco thought, and the tips of his ears turned red. Merlin, he was becoming as sentimental as a Hufflepuff. He cleared his throat. 

“Your valet,” Draco said to change the subject. 

“Yes? Was he agreeable to you?”

“Of course. I mean to say, he was wearing wizarding clothes.” 

“Yes, all of our elves are free and earn a wage. Except Kreacher, who is too set in his way. Griffel makes the clothing for all of our elves, and he has great plans to open his own shop if elvish liberation becomes widespread. Herky, from the board portrait? They are partners. ” 

“Do you think it will? Become widespread, I mean,” Draco said.

“I think Herky and Griffel are forces with which to be reckoned.” He smiled in amusement. “They’re a passionate duo, and so I have no doubt.” 

They made a turn and arrived at a sprawling garden, filled with a rainbow assortment of flowers, winding pathways, and a water fountain. 

“And what are your passions?”

Potter looked ahead, as though contemplating his answer. “I do not want anyone else to experience what I had to experience. I suppose that is my driving force.” 

“Noble,” Draco said, surprised by his own sincerity. “And your less noble pursuits?”

He grinned. “Flying. Quidditch matches. Dabbling in defense spell creation with Hermione. Learning about my family. Trying to lead as private and quiet a life as possible outside of my charity obligations. Sundays at the Burrow.” 

“The Burrow?” 

“Ron’s parents’ home. It is not much, but outside of Hogwarts, it is the first place that felt like home.”

Draco furrowed his brow. Had he not had a home with his aunt and uncle? 

Potter interrupted his thoughts. “What about you? Your passions?”

They were edging closer to the house. “My studies have consumed most of my time the last few years. The magic of the blood is fascinating and I have greatly enjoyed working to understand it better. Otherwise, I read a great deal. And, of course, I am attempting to make amends on behalf of my family.”

Potter smiled. “Then your pursuit is noble as well.”

 _Was it?_ How much of Draco’s plan was to clear his family’s name and how much was to bring about the greater good? He pushed away those uncomfortable questions for another time.

“We do have a well-stocked library,” Potter continued. “My family’s collection was already quite remarkable, but Hermione has improved upon it considerably. You must peruse it before you leave and borrow whatever you would like.”

“I would find that most agreeable. We lost our own library with the estate.”

“Oh. I am sorry.”

“No need to be,” Draco replied with a forced smile, trying to swallow down the sudden onset of grief and regret. “We housed the Dark Lord in our home. We deserved to lose it.” He wanted to believe it, but he missed his home so much. He wanted it to belong to his family again. Potter said nothing, and Draco knew that he agreed with his statement. All things considered, the Malfoys got off much easier than other Death Eater families. However, he did not want this day to end sourly, so he attempted to move the conversation forward. “I would be very grateful to see your library.”

“Of course,” Potter replied. “I will call for Kreacher for tea and we can have it in the library while you explore.” Draco nodded and they returned to the house.

The library was lovely, though smaller than the Manor’s (the lack of dark texts might have attributed to that). The cream-colored walls were lined with leather-bound texts in a variety of subjects. Plush chaises and armchairs were scattered amongst the room, and there was a very large window seat piled high with cushions. Two desks sat opposite each other: one neatly piled with an assortment of academic texts and the other in disarray, with Quidditch periodicals, defense texts, a few scrolls, and unopened mail thrown haphazardly on its surface. 

“Let me guess,” Draco drawled. “That is Mrs. Granger-Weasley’s desk. And this is yours.”

Potter gave a sheepish grin. “Yes.” They had both changed out of their flying robes, though Potter was now wearing a muggle tailcoat. He tossed up the tails before sitting down. 

“And Mr. Weasley’s?” Draco replied, looking around.

“He does not spend much time in the library.” 

_Of course not._

An elf entered with a tray, fully dressed with an apron.

“Pipsy has brought tea for Mr. Potter and his guest,” she said. She seemed awed by his very presence and gave Potter an enamoured smile before setting down the tray and removing the tea cosy. She looked downright smitten. 

Draco smirked when she left. “I think Pipsy fancies you, Potter.” 

“What?!” he asked with an intake of breath, looking positively scandalised. 

“She is as taken with you as every other witch in this country.” He sat down to pour himself a cup of tea. The tea service was made of ornately carved silver, and the teapot depicted an occamy. The head and neck made up the spout, the winged, serpentined body wrapped around the base, and its tail created the handle. Draco thought it must have been an heirloom from when Potter’s family still lived in India. 

“She is not,” Potter replied, pulling Draco’s attention back to the conversation. “And those witches do not even know who I am.” Potter poured himself a cup of tea.

“They know you are Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and Saviour of the Wizarding World. I am sure they find your messy hair delightfully handsome and they think your perpetual habit of walking about in muggle clothing is charming and quaint.”

Potter was stirring sugar into his tea before he stopped to look at him. He was silent for a moment before he spoke. “And what do you think of me?”

Draco’s heart began to beat at a dangerous pace, and it felt as if Potter’s clear, green eyes were looking straight into his soul. Surely he was not a Legilimens? “I think… I think,” he looked down and cleared his throat. “It does not matter what I think.” He reached for the milk as if pouring it into his tea were the most important task in the world.

“That is a first,” Potter replied with a smile, but it did not reach his eyes. 

***

Draco left Godric’s Hollow with eight books shrunken to fit into his bag. When he arrived at home, Quelter met him to inform him that his mother would be dining with the Parkinsons that evening. Draco was not surprised. After a quarrel, she would often avoid him or his father by having meals in her room or dining out all together. He hoped this spell did not last too long as they were scheduled to meet with Potter and Mrs. Granger-Weasley on Tuesday to begin planning the unity ball. 

Quelter also handed him two letters, one from Mrs. Granger-Weasley and one from Miss Lovegood. When Draco retired to the parlour, he decided to read Mrs. Granger-Weasley’s letter first, as it was less likely to be filled with nonsense.

> _Dear Mr. Malfoy,  
>    
>  Thank you for your letter. Mr. Weasley and I did have an enjoyable time at your home and would be happy to return again. Thank you, too, for your apology. I know it must not have been an easy thing to do. I hope that your work with the Patronus Charity will provide an adequate step to help in your quest to make amends.  
>    
>  I know you cannot yet share your professor’s research on lineage and blood magic, but I do await with anticipation to read your findings. Thank you, again, for offering it to the charity to further support our goal. In the meantime, if you have any suggestions on other journals or books published in your area of expertise, I would be happy to receive your recommendations.  
>    
>  Yours, respectfully,  
>    
>  Mrs. Hermione Granger-Weasley_

Draco supposed it was an appropriately brief reply to the wizard who consistently called her Mudblood at school and whose aunt tortured her in his home. In contrast, Potter’s letter had been so, well, forgiving and open. He could not expect that response from everyone. Draco made a mental note to curate a list of books she may enjoy and opened Miss Lovegood’s letter.

> _Dear Draco Malfoy,  
>    
>  I forgave you December 3, two years past, but I am grateful for your apology. Would you care for tea at Madam Joylove’s Tea Parlor this Wednesday at 2? She has a wonderful gillyweed blend. Please wear blue.  
>    
>  Yours, etc.  
>  Luna Lovegood_

Tea? With Loony Lovegood? _What have I done?_

***

Tuesday did not come quickly enough. He was anxious to see Potter after his visit to Godric’s Hollow, yet nervous that he might act a blubbering fool as he did in the library.

As he entered the dining room for breakfast, he saw his mother for the first time since their quarrel, and he gave her a nervous smile. 

“Good morning, mother.”

“Good morning, Draco. You look quite handsome this morning.” Draco may have asked Fitzy to dress him in his finest daywear for his meeting with Potter and Mrs. Granger-Weasley, but he did not see fit to share that information.

“As do you, as always.” 

“Thank you, my dear.” She was already reading the paper. 

Vinxy filled Draco’s coffee cup while he filled his own plate. He waited for his mother to say something, anything, about the other day, but she did not. She seemed quite happy to ignore it, and for the sake of the day’s future success, he decided to do the same.

“Are you prepared for our meeting with Mr. Potter and Mrs. Granger-Weasley?” He asked.

“Of course,” she smiled. “I spent the last few days planning.” She made no further elaboration. 

“Do you need assistance with anything?”

“No.” She smiled again and took a sip of tea. Draco could, at times, forget how much of a Slytherin his mother truly was, but he need only think back on moments like this to remind himself. Between Lucius and Narcissa, Draco did come by it honestly.

The two Malfoys Apparated together to Godric’s Hollow after breakfast. Kreacher’s eyes widened to the size of saucers when he saw ‘Miss Cissy’ and practically bounced while escorting them to the estate’s ballroom. It was significantly larger than the manor’s, with walls painted a delicate powder blue and candelabras lining each wall. Three glittering chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, sunlight catching on the crystals and casting dancing lights all around them. 

Draco heard a noise behind him while he handed his gloves and hat to Kreacher, and he turned to see Potter and Mrs. Granger-Weasley enter the room. Potter was wearing robes this time; was it because he was meeting with Mrs. Malfoy or was it in reaction to Draco’s comment on his muggle dress? Those queries vanished from Draco’s mind the moment Potter’s gaze immediately softened upon looking at him. Instead, memories from Saturday flooded his senses — Harry’s hand on Draco’s shoulder, his bright smile, his ridiculous question in the library.

_“And what do you think of me?”_

Today, Potter’s spectacles were slightly askew, and Draco wanted to reach out and straighten them, linger his fingertips on his jawline, brush his thumb along his soft lips. _I think you are a danger to my forbearance, Mr. Potter._

Draco was quite proud that he did not make a fool of himself when they exchanged pleasantries. His mother was as perceptive as a hawk, and he did not need to add any unanswerable questions to their current slate of issues.

He turned toward Potter’s friend. “Mrs. Granger-Weasley, I have curated a list of books for you as requested.”

“Oh!” She practically squeaked. He removed the list from his pocket and handed it to her. 

“I recommend reading them in order. I believe you may already have the fifth one in the library here.”

“Oh, I have been eyeing _Magical Maladies of the Blood_ at Flourish and Blotts. Thank you, Mr. Malfoy.” 

“Of course.”

“This is truly a beautiful ballroom, Mr. Potter,” said his mother. “It will work wonderfully for your charity event.”

“Thank you. Mrs. Granger-Weasley was very helpful in its restoration.”

“Kreacher helped as well,” Kreacher said, looking to Mrs. Malfoy for praise.

“Excellent work,” she replied with a doting smile. Mrs. Malfoy had a thick portfolio in her arms. She laid it upon the table, and spelled its contents to spill forth in neat piles. When each stack was finished, their names appeared and a silver ribbon tied them into a package. She then took a turn around the room, her eyes measuring its capability. He could see her vision formulating as she completed her turn.

“Very well,” she said when she finished. “Kreacher, please take notes.” The elf snapped his fingers and parchment and a pencil appeared in his hands. “Before you are drafts of the menu and guest lists. Please feel free to add any additions to the guest lists by this Friday. We will need to order and send invitations as soon as possible. You will also see finalist lists for bands, florists, decorators, and caterers.”

“This is _very_ impressive,” said Mrs. Granger-Weasley, and Draco wondered if the pair of them would bond over unnecessarily complicated planning. His mother’s responding smile seemed to say _just wait._

She moved to the center of the room and raised her wand. Her arm moved as if conducting an orchestra, and transparent, glittery impressions of a ballroom appeared. Four long, house tables stretched from her wand and walked to the front of the room, filling themselves with flowers and place settings. House banners unfurled from the ceilings, and candlesticks floated upward and suspended mid-air. Music stands erected from the floor and a champagne fountain began to bubble and flow nearby. 

Draco had seen this display many times before. It was a speciality of Black family women for planning large social events. The lady of the house would create twinkling facsimiles of her vision, and an eager elf would take detailed notes to send out to the appropriate persons. As she continued today’s creation, Draco turned to see wide eyes and slack jaws on both Potter and Mrs. Granger-Weasley. The so-called Brightest Witch of Her Age and Boy Who Lived had both taken part in defeating the most dangerous wizard of their time, yet they were still impressed by a little bit of charms work.

When his mother finished, she turned to her audience. A pleased and proud smile graced her face. “Questions? Thoughts?”

“Our thoughts?” Potter asked. “It is brilliant! The display and the lists and— and everything!”

“It is absolutely gorgeous,” Mrs. Granger-Weasley agreed. Her hand hovered above one of the house tables, and she delicately touched her fingers to the glimmering surface, which parted like smoke at her touch.

“Thank you very much. Kreacher,” she said, turning to him. “Do you have everything?”

“Kreacher took excellent notes, Miss Cissy.”

“Wonderful. Now, in your packets, I have also included an announcement for _The Daily Prophet_ for when the invitations are dispersed. Who should I list if the paper would like a statement? Mr. Potter?”

“Ah, no,” Mrs. Granger-Weasley chimed in. Draco could see the sudden wariness in Potter’s face. “Mr. Potter tries to stay away from the press as much as possible.”

“Oh, I see. Well, I am sure Draco would be happy to take care of any statements or interviews on your behalf.”

 _Smooth, Mother._ Her face was as still as stone, but Draco knew she was working toward the next item on their list.

Mrs. Granger-Weasley looked as though she might object but was interrupted by Potter. “Of course. The unity ball was his idea and your family is its benefactor.” 

“Very well,” Mrs. Granger-Weasley replied with a tight smile. Draco did not blame her; even despite their recent conversations over books, he had never given her a single reason to trust him. Merlin knew why Potter suddenly seemed to do so.

“Mrs. Granger-Weasley,” his mother said, “would you mind a walk around the grounds? We may want to provide entertainment and refreshments outdoors as well.” She beckoned Kreacher to her side to continue with his note-taking.

“Certainly, Mrs. Malfoy.”

When the pair exited the room, Draco turned toward Potter. “I am having tea with Miss Lovegood tomorrow.”

“Really? How did that come to pass?”

“Well, as you may have guessed, your letter was not the only one I sent. She responded and requested a rendezvous for tea. I do not suppose you have advice for my poor soul?”

Potter laughed and came over so that they were standing side-by-side, facing the windows. “Madam Joylove’s?” He asked. Draco nodded. “Do not try the Witch’s Brew if you care anything about your tastebuds.” He laughed again. “Oh, the image of the two of you sitting at tea is a most amusing one.”

“Will you always laugh at my expense, Potter?” he asked, but with no irritation or grievance. 

“For as long as you will have me,” he responded. Draco chanced a look at Potter and saw a sheepish, shy grin. Then Draco was hit with sudden bravery, a bravery with which he was not generally familiar, if he were honest. He reached out and dragged his knuckle very, very slowly along the back of Potter’s hand. He heard a sharp intake of breath at the touch and looked up to see Potter’s eyes closed, his thick lashes fanned against his brown skin. Seeing him like that, so open and vulnerable to Draco’s touch, brought back his Slytherin-patented sense of self-preservation, and he dropped his hand. He also took two steps back for good measure. 

“Perhaps we should join my mother and Mrs. Granger-Weasley in the garden?” Draco suggested, his voice thick with… with something he would rather not think about right then.

Potter opened his eyes and frowned. “Right. Of course.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"However, I now know the truth and I… I would not wish that on most people, let alone someone whom I— I care for."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a day early as I don't know when I'll get the chance to post tomorrow.
> 
> Thanks so much for the kinds words thus far. They mean so much to me!

  
  
  
Draco walked down Diagon Alley the next day to meet with Miss Lovegood for tea. As he traversed the well-worn walkway, he thought of the meeting from the previous day. It had ended well enough, though Potter had seemed distant after their _tête-à-tête_ (though _main-á-main_ may have been a more fitting description). 

Draco wished he had a pensieve to revisit the moment again and again. Potter had not run away when Draco touched him. He had not shoved him or sneered in disgust. He had closed his eyes and _savored_ it, like a mug of warm chocolate on a cold, wet day. 

Had Potter had romantic inclinations toward other men, or was Draco the first? He knew that the muggle world prohibited such relationships, and he therefore wondered if Potter had been influenced by his upbringing. The Wizarding World was better in regards to same-gender relationships, but only somewhat. Oh, common people were free to be with whomever they liked, but high society, and especially purebloods, were expected to forego any such inclinations to secure heirs for the family’s legacy. Duty was always more important than following one’s heart. So while Draco had had a couple of minor dalliances at university, at some point he would have to do what was expected of him: marry a woman and have a child. His lip curled at the thought.

He wondered if Potter was in a similar predicament. He was not a pureblood, but he was still a gentleman of means. Surely they shared the same duty. Draco frowned. Potter had never mentioned a courtship, and the only woman he had seen him with was Mrs. Granger-Weasley. Was he courting a woman? Was he courting _anyone_? 

Draco realized that he had just passed Madame Joylove’s Tea Parlour for Drinking and Reading, and he retraced his steps, berating himself for becoming so lost in thought. When he arrived, he ducked his head to enter the short door and saw that each wall was crammed with precariously leaning towers of teacups and saucers in a variety of shapes and colors. The shop was perfumed with the sweet aroma of tea leaves, peppered with hints of bergamot, apricot, and ginger. 

“Mr. Malfoy!”

Draco turned to see Miss Lovegood rising from her seat. Her dress matched the color of her loose curls, yellow and sunny, and while he never would have assumed any shade of yellow would compliment a woman so fair, she looked as if she had descended from Mount Olympus itself. He had never realized that Miss Lovegood was handsome while they attended Hogwarts (or while she had been locked away in his family’s dungeon, for that matter). Perhaps he had other things on his mind.

_Yes, a certain bespectacled Gryffindor._

“Miss Lovegood, thank you for inviting me.”

“Of course. And you wore blue!” They sat down at the small table.

“Ah, yes. As solicited.” He was still unsure why she had made the strange request. 

“That was very kind of you,” she replied. “Have you been here before? The selection is excellent.”

“I have not.”

“The gillyweed blend is quite beneficial for your skin.”

The suggestion sounded positively revolting, but Draco tried his best to smile. “Thank you for the recommendation. I shall consider it.” 

A woman whom Draco assumed was Madam Joylove came to their table, looking akin to Professor Trelawney’s long lost sister. Wild hair escaped an orange turban cap and the edges of her shawl were burned from, what Draco could only assume to be, too many run-ins with kettle fires. 

“Good day, Miss Lovegood. And to you, sir. What lies in your future this day?” she asked, voice hearty and firm.

“Erm,” he said in response to her strange greeting. 

“It is his first time here, Madam Joylove,” Miss Lovegood said with a warm smile.

“Oh, welcome!” Her eyes narrowed, looking at him critically. “Are you well?”

“Uh, yes?”

“There is a sense of… conflict to your aura. May I suggest the Witch’s Brew? It cures many common aura ailments.”

“No!” he said immediately, remembering Potter’s advice. “No, thank you. Do you have a lavender tea?” 

“Indeed. I could add the lavender to the witch’s blend?”

“No, thank you. Really. Just lavender.”

“Very well. And your usual, Miss Lovegood?” 

She nodded in response, and Madam Joylove took leave of their table.

Draco was unsure how to begin and quickly fumbled to assuage the awkwardness. “The weather is fine today, is it not?” _The weather?_ He was truly turning into the most awkward wizard alive. He used to alleviate these feelings with sneering and name-calling. Being amiable was difficult work, indeed, and no one ever seemed to notice his effort. What was the point? 

“Yes, I have already spent the morning in our gardens. It would have been relaxing, but the gnomes are quite feisty this year.” She looked at him in earnest. “Your note was really very kind, Mr. Malfoy. And unexpected.”

“It was necessary. I should have done so long ago.” 

“Yes, you should have,” she replied, but without a hint of malice.

Madam Joylove brought their tea to the table, a teapot for each of them, and poured their cups. She mumbled something about returning for readings, but Draco did not pay much attention as he was adding sugar and the smallest hint of milk to his tea. 

“Your forgiveness,” he said to Miss Lovegood once Madam Joylove had quit their table, “and honesty have not been taken lightly. I owe you my thanks.”

“Of course. How have you fared these last years?”

“I have been at university.”

“Oh! Where?”

“In Brittany.”

“ _L’École du Prince_!” she exclaimed. “Did you visit the Tomb of Merlin?”

“ _Mais oui_ ,” he responded. “It is tradition.” Even if it had not been tradition for the university’s students to pay their respects at the tomb, Draco would have wished to do so as a fellow Slytherin. “I do recommend a trip if you ever have the chance. It— Well, it changed me.” The words stumbled out of his mouth before he had even realized it, and he was shocked at his own carelessness in revealing his inner thoughts.

“Oh? How so?” Her brows knitted in sympathy.

He had already begun; he may as well spill his soul to a woman he barely knew. “Bad history precedes every Slytherin, so much so that many of us simply embrace it. But to visit the Tomb of Merlin, to feel the power that still radiates from its stones, and to know that he was the greatest wizard in history. To know that he, too, was a Slytherin, but did not choose darkness. To be ambitious and cunning but not,” he sneered, “ _evil_ … it changed my perspective.” 

“It made you realize that you could choose another path?” She asked.

“Yes.” His voice shook, and he cursed himself for it.

“I’m glad that you did.” She gave him a warm smile. “My mother used to tell me stories about Merlin and Nimue. I have always wanted to visit the Forest of Brocéliande and see his tomb.”

“I hope you get the chance to,” he said, grateful for the change in subject. “And how are you, Miss Lovegood? Have you gotten on well since—” _being held captive in my home_ “— Hogwarts?”

“Oh, yes. I travel when I can, in search of unidentified magical creatures. I have found two already this year! And I often help my papa with _The Quibbler_ and other things.” She took a deep breath. “We help each other. It can be… sometimes there are difficult moments. Since the war.”

“I am sorry, Miss Lovegood.”

“Please, let us speak of happier things! We cannot let the simters ruin our rendezvous. Speak of something good.”

 _Simters?_ He was curious but was not sure he wanted to ask. “Very well. I have been spending time with Mr. Potter as of late. And Mrs. Granger-Weasley as well. We are working on a fundraising ball for their charity.”

“Oh, that is splendid! And things are well between you and Mr. Potter?” 

“Erm, yes,” he said, suddenly feeling self-conscious. No doubt she had asked because of their public history of animosity, but he felt his own face redden. “Yes, one could say that.” 

“Ah,” she said with, what Draco feared to be, a knowing smile. Did she know about Potter’s possible proclivities? Was Draco so obvious? How did the woman who had spent her school years with her nose in an upside down book become so observant? “I am glad. Mr. Potter is one of my dearest friends. It is wonderful that you now share his friendship as well.” 

“Do you visit each other often?”

“Fairly often, yes. Though not as often as we used to, now that he avoids public meetings.”

“Oh?” Draco did not realize this, though, when he thought back, he had only seen Potter in the office and in their homes. And the office was unmarked. 

“He does not have much peace in public. He is always followed by the press or those who want to meet or take advantage of who he is. It is very taxing on his spirit. Some time back, Mrs. Granger-Weasley and I suggested using Floo for travel and limiting his broader social appearance to his charity work. I also suggested drinking gurdyroot infusion twice daily. The changes have made his spirits much brighter.”

That certainly explained Potter’s strange request to use his floo. 

In school, Draco had thought that Potter had relished and sought after the attention he received; Draco certainly would have. Even today, he would not turn it down, especially if it meant being forgiven by society for his family’s crimes. Now, he had learned that Potter loathed it all so much that he essentially stalked in the shadows like some mythical beast. 

“How is he happy? Living in such a manner?”

“I think he is happy. At least, I hope he is. He surrounds himself often with friends and the family he has found along the way.”

“And,” he swallowed. “And does he have intentions for anyone?” 

Miss Lovegood opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Madam Joylove. 

“I see your cups are nearly empty. Are you ready for your reading?”

“Would you mind returning—”

“Oh yes!” Miss Lovegood exclaimed at the same time. “Mr. Malfoy, Madam Joylove is a skilled seer. You will not find a better tea reading.” She took a final sip of her tea and turned her cup over, nodding at Draco for him to follow.

“Of course,” he said, trying to smile. Draco had often thought most divination to be frivolous and even dangerous. The Weird Sisters’ prophecy had ruined the life of that Muggle king, and the Dark Lord himself had been unhealthily obsessed with his own prophecy. Indeed, Potter’s parents would still be alive without Professor Trelawney’s fateful words. Despite his hesitation, he turned over his teacup.

“Very well.” Madam Joylove magicked an additional chair to their table and she sat in front of them. “Miss Lovegood?” She gestured for her teacup. Miss Lovegood handed it to her with glee before pulling a small notebook and pencil from her satchel. She turned to a blank page and awaited her reading, her body taut with anticipation. Madam Joylove produced a monocle and placed it on her eye before inspecting the cup. “Hmmmm. I see an arch, though it is slightly blurry. You will travel soon, Miss Lovegood, though it may not be an advantageous trip.”

Miss Lovegood’s brow furrowed as she wrote down the results in her notebook. “I have two upcoming trips, one in search of myskitus and the other for crumpled horn snorkacks. I wonder which will be unfruitful.”

“Mr. Malfoy?” said Madam Joylove. “Are you ready?” He handed her his teacup with dread. She was quiet this time, taking much longer to read than she did for Miss Lovegood. “I see a… chain?” She seemed unsure. Draco could not remember what a chain signified from his Divination classes. “That would mean an engagement in your future!” She smiled.

“An engagement?” Draco asked, his stomach turning at the thought. He had been so busy with... well, he had been so busy with Potter (and the unity ball, of course!), that he had been putting off that item on his list. He was not ready.

She turned the cup slightly. “Oh. I apologize, Mr. Malfoy but it looks as though…” She turned the cup again. “I believe it may, in fact, be a lightning bolt.”

He gasped. 

“Oh!” Miss Lovegood said. 

“A shift in your aura,” Madam Joylove whispered in awe. “Is this symbol significant to you?”

“Are you not supposed to tell _us_ the significance?” he sneered, shutting down his feelings of uneasiness. The last thing he needed was an imposter seer reading _him_ instead of his tea leaves in an attempt to manipulate him into believing her false prediction. 

“Well,” She said, averting her eyes in clear discomfort, “I would usually read this and say that a spark of insight is in your future. However,” she turned the cup toward him so that he could see, “the leaves know you more than I do. If lightning is significant to you in some way, follow your own inner eye. What does it tell you?”

Draco swallowed. “I see.” His face reddened in shame at his outburst, but he was a Malfoy, for Merlin’s sake. A Malfoy never apologized. “Thank you,” he said instead. 

“May I get you some more tea?” 

“No, but thank you very much for the reading,” Miss Lovegood replied. She turned to Draco. “Are you well?”

“I am fine,” he said. 

She smiled. “Mr. Malfoy?”

“Yes?”

“To answer your question… I do not believe he has intentions for anyone.” 

He let out a shaky breath, and his heart drummed fiercely in his chest. 

***

On Friday, Draco came downstairs for breakfast. He and his mother were to meet Mrs. Granger-Weasley soon at Inviting Invitations to pick out the cards for the unity ball, and Mrs. Malfoy was reviewing the final invitation list.

“Good morning,” he said, sitting down next to her.

“Good morning,” she said. “I am almost done reviewing the list.” 

Draco was reaching for a sausage when _The Daily Prophet_ ’s most offending owl came careening through the window. Draco sighed and held up the sausage that he knew the bird would steal. The owl hooted at the sight, dropped the paper, and swooped down to retrieve the sausage. Then he flew about the room twice and finally exited.

“Well, he certainly has _you_ well-trained,” his mother said. 

“Ha ha, mother,” Draco responded. She laughed and looked back down to the list, however her smile vanished as quickly as it had come. “What is the matter?”

“It seems as though Mr. Potter has invited your Aunt Andromeda.”

“Oh.” Draco should have known that was a possibility. “He is the godfather of her grandchild. I forgot to tell you. I am sorry.”

“I see,” she responded.

“Are you alright?” 

“If we are trying to reenter society, then I suppose this sort of thing should be expected.” She looked up and forced a smile onto her face. He was unsure if she was trying to convince him or herself. “Now, hurry and eat, or we will be late for our meeting.”

Draco ate a quick breakfast, and then they left the house to meet Mrs. Granger-Weasley. As they crossed the street a few minutes later, his eyes fell upon a familiar broom in the Quality Quidditch Supplies window. 

“Mother? May I meet you there? I would like to make a stop first.”

She nodded. “Yes, but do not take too long.”

He walked into the shop, the familiar and comforting smells of wood, leather, and polish meeting him as he entered. Draco had frequented this shop as a boy and recognized its owner, Mr. Stone, shelving quaffles to the left.

Draco cleared his throat to get his attention. “Good day, Mr. Stone.”

“Good day,” The man said with a smile, which immediately disappeared when he turned and saw the person to whom he was speaking. “Oh. Mr. Malfoy.” He cleared his throat. “It has certainly been a long time.” This reaction had been a somewhat common occurrence since the war. There were some who would never forgive him for who he had once been, but Draco tried his best to ignore it, if only because he refused to prove their suspicion right.

“Yes. I am interested in purchasing the new Firebolt,” he said.

“Of course. Nothing but the best for a Malfoy,” Mr. Stone responded. Draco might have taken that as a compliment as a boy, but it felt like a jab now. He clenched his jaw instead of saying something he might have regretted. The shopkeeper went to the back room to retrieve it for him and returned a few minutes later. “Anything else?”

“Yes, please have my initials engraved on the broom handle. I also have other business this afternoon, so I will need it delivered to my home.”

“Yes, sir. I believe I still have your address on file.” Mr. Stone looked up briefly as someone else entered the shop.

“No,” Draco said with a sigh. “I will need to give you a new address.” Draco was about to tell Mr. Stone their townhome address when he had an idea. “Actually, I will be doing most of my flying elsewhere and would like it to be delivered there. Please send it to me, care of Mr. Harry Potter, Godric’s Hollow. And include a snitch, as well. If you will allow me some parchment and a quill, I will include a note.”

“You want _your_ broom sent to Harry Potter’s home?”

Draco raised his brows. “Is that a problem, Mr. Stone?”

“Of course not, Mr. Malfoy. My apologies.” He handed Draco the parchment and quill as requested, and Draco jotted a quick note.

> _Dear Mr. Potter,  
>    
>  Please accept this broom on my behalf, so you are unable to kill me next time (at least not via cursed broom).  
>    
>  Yours, etc.,  
>    
>  Draco Malfoy  
>    
>  P.S., I could not be so cruel as to send a package to your home without something for you. Please find the enclosed snitch for your amusement, until, at least, I claim it as my own. _

When Draco had finished his transaction, he turned to leave but was stopped by a fairly familiar face.

“Mr. Malfoy, what an unexpected surprise!” Astoria Greengrass stood before him, wearing plain, but well-made, peach-coloured dress robes. Her dark hair was in a perfectly styled chignon, and a modest emerald glittered at her pale neck. He had not seen her since Hogwarts and, because she had been two years his junior, much had changed since then. She had certainly lost the bodily awkwardness of youth.

“Miss Astoria, how are you? I would not expect to see you at a quidditch shop.”

“I am shopping for my cousin. He has high hopes of joining the Quidditch team next year.”

“Oh, please send him my regards! I am sure he will be a welcome addition to the Slytherin team.”

“Hufflepuff, actually,” she said with a whisper behind her gloved hand. “Much to my family’s chagrin.” Though she did not seem chagrined in the slightest.

“Then I send my condolences.” 

She laughed. “I believe our mothers have been conversing about dinner. Perhaps you will visit us soon?” Draco had not only forgotten about that dinner, but he had also lost track of the hour. 

“Oh, my mother! I am late to meet her right now, actually. But yes, I am sure we will see you soon. I apologize for leaving so suddenly.”

“Of course, Mr. Malfoy.”

He said his goodbyes to Miss Astoria and rushed to the invitation shop to meet his mother and Mrs. Granger-Weasley.

Mrs. Malfoy’s head perked up when he walked in, and she pursed her lips before feigning a smile. “There is my darling son. I had begun to think he had gotten lost.”

Mrs. Granger-Weasley spoke before Draco could reply. “I am convinced that there is some sort of vortex in the quidditch shop in which time has no meaning or reason. I have learned that the hard way after many, many years.” 

“And Hermione Granger-Weasley would never lose hours in a bookshop,” Draco replied, stepping next to her to look over the stationary and calligraphy samples. 

“And neither would Draco Malfoy,” she responded, glancing upward until their eyes met. They stayed like that for a moment, and then the smallest, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, and he found himself returning it. 

Draco felt an odd sort of warmth in his belly at receiving such a carefree interaction from such an unlikely source. He could not help but think of how different life could have been if Draco had been raised in a normal family. Perhaps he and Mrs. Granger-Weasley would have been friendly rivals at Hogwarts. Or perhaps many evenings shared together in the library would have kindled a real friendship. If he hadn’t have been so ignorantly bound to the duties of his family, his whole life could have turned out so differently.

“Oh, what do you think of this one?” His mother asked, rousing him from his thoughts. 

“It is lovely,” Mrs. Granger-Weasley said, handing the parchment to Draco. “What do you think?”

“It is a little busy. And the parchment… maybe a different color. Something more grey?”

“Yes, you may be right, darling,” Mrs. Malfoy said. “I will bring this to Mrs. Pearlman and see what else she has.”

Mrs. Granger-Weasley began to tidy up the other samples into a small pile. “Miss Lovegood wrote to me,” she stated. “She said that the two of you met for tea.” 

“We did,” Draco replied. He joined in her tidying and handed her his pile.

“She seemed to have had a very pleasant time.”

“Surprisingly, I did as well. Though it was a rather unusual tea shop.”

She nodded. “Yes. I do not have much patience for divination, and Mrs. Joylove tries too assertively to read one’s leaves whether one wants her to or not. I would rather just not know, thank you.” 

“I feel much the same way.” 

“Oh? Is that your usual sentiment, Mr. Malfoy, or do you only feel that way after receiving an ominous reading?”

It was his usual sentiment, but — oh. “Did Miss Lovegood share the reading with you?”

“Oh no. She takes it so very seriously, and she would never share something she deemed to be so important and private.”

He sighed in relief. The last thing he needed was Mrs. Granger-Weasley becoming too curious about his lightning-shaped fortune. Miss Lovegood’s gasp had been bad enough. 

“That terrible, hm?” she asked.

Draco shrugged. “Only time will tell.”

***

When Draco and his mother arrived home that evening, Quelter handed Draco his letters, including one from Potter.

“You are smiling, my dear. A letter from someone special?” Mrs. Malfoy asked. 

Draco hastily covered up Potter’s unopened letter with the others and looked at her. “Of course not.” She looked at him pointedly and he knew very well that he did not have her fooled. “I ran into Astoria Greengrass today,” he rushed in a desperate attempt to change the subject. “She mentioned dinner with her family.”

Her brow arched expectantly. “Oh?”

 _Ugh._ He had walked into one trap trying to escape from another. “Yes. I said I would mention it to you.”

“Delightful,” she exclaimed with a smile and headed, no doubt, toward her bureau to write a letter. “I will reach out to Mrs. Greengrass to make arrangements.”

Draco nodded and waited for her to leave before he took his correspondence to his bedroom. When he closed the door behind him, he dropped the other letters to the floor in haste to see Potter’s reply, and popped the seal with his fingertip.

> _Dear Mr. Malfoy,_
> 
> _There is a fee for accepting packages on your behalf. Please return to Godric’s Hollow on Wednesday morning to pay your debts. Bring flying robes._
> 
> __Yours affectionately,_  
>  _H. Potter__

__  
Draco leaned back against the door and ran his fingers over the word “affectionately.” Wednesday could not come soon enough.

***

The next few days were a flurry of correspondence as invitations to the ball were sent out from the charity office and as the Malfoys, in turn, received their own invitations to an assortment of parties, dinners, and other social engagements. They had not received so many missives since before the Dark Lord’s return, and Draco had never seen his mother so happy.

The plan seemed to be working. By throwing one party on behalf of Harry Potter’s charity, many people seemed perfectly willing to at least sweep the Malfoys’ perilous past under the rug, if not forgive them for it all together. With the right handshakes and promised _cotillions_ , Draco might be able to salvage their name and their home after all. 

As expected, they received a formal dinner invitation from the Greengrasses for the following Friday. Draco felt slightly more at ease about accepting it since his run-in with Miss Astoria; she had seemed to provide stimulating conversation and had been at least thrice as agreeable as her sister had been in school. Still, he knew that both his mother and Mrs. Greengrass would be vying for a match with one of the sisters. In theory, Draco could see that it would be an advantageous betrothal: while the Greengrasses were purebloods, they had taken no sides during the war, saving their family from Azkaban and asset seizure. Their wealth still did not compare to the Malfoys’ post-war, but half of the families in the Sacred Eight and Twenty were now tarnished, and the Greengrasses had managed to escape that. In addition, Mr. Greengrass’s elevated position in the Ministry could prove useful for the Malfoys’ future. 

Draco would attend the dinner to appease his mother, but he would stall for as long as possible. He was in no hurry to marry, not when their plan was working well enough without that step. Not when he had other social engagements to attend and other people to see. Not when he could think of nothing else but Harry Potter. 

Wednesday morning brought him to the sprawling estate of Godric’s Hollow. Potter was already in the air when he arrived and, after a quick change into flying robes, Draco mounted his new broom to join him. They spent several hours in the air, chasing each other and the snitch and practicing old Quidditch maneuvers from their Hogwarts days.

Potter motioned to land, and when they did, it allowed Draco to eye Potter closely for the first time since he arrived. His hair was wild from the wind and a few errant strands were damp with sweat against his forehead. He was breathing quickly from exertion, and when his eyes met Draco’s, his smile was so warm and bright that it made Draco’s chest ache. 

“I’ve asked the elves to prepare a meal if you have the time?” Potter asked, guiding them to a small creek that they had flown over a few minutes earlier. 

“Of course,” Draco responded. He was always ravenous after a long flight and, though he hated to admit it, would welcome more time with Potter either way. 

Blankets were spread under a large oak tree, complete with a large spread of cold meats, cheeses, and fruit. Potter walked forward and perched himself against the trunk as if he often time under its large, outspread branches. It was a nice spot, Draco thought, and he could easily see Potter coming here to escape the eyes and expectations of the Wizarding World. 

Potter gestured for Draco to join him before pouring both of them a glass of ale. “I’ve not had that much fun flying in quite some time,” he said.

“It was certainly better than the last escapade,” Draco responded with exasperation and sat across from him.

Potter laughed. “It’s a tiptop broom, isn’t it?”

“When it is not trying to murder me, yes.” He helped himself to a large portion of food, his stomach grumbling impolitely in anticipation.

“Mrs. Figg flooed me this morning. She says that we’ve already had a large number of responses about the ball.” 

“Our own home has been abuzz. I am not surprised that the office is as well.” He took a sip of ale. “I have never heard of the Figg family. How are you acquainted?”

Potter’s eyes averted to the creek. “I have known her most of my life,” he replied after a long moment.

“Oh. Did you know her when you lived with your muggle family?”

“Yes. I—” he stopped, as if warring to continue. He looked to Draco and then back at the water.

“Potter?”

“Do you know anything about my history? Before I came to Hogwarts?”

“Besides the obvious, you mean?” Draco responded, and Potter nodded. “I know that you lived with your muggle family, and that you had to return there during the summers for your protection.”

“Right.” He took a deep breath and exhaled, his eyes returning to Draco’s. “My mother and her sister were born to a poor miner and his wife. My aunt was lucky enough to marry a merchant who was coming up in the world and they had built a comfortable life for themselves before I was dropped on their doorstep. Aunt Petunia hated my mother not only for her magic and her ability to escape their hardships by attending Hogwarts, but she also hated her for marrying into such a wealthy family. Even if they were wizards of Indian descent. After my parents died, my aunt and uncle thought that, as my new caretakers, they would have access to the Potter fortune. When they learned that was not the case, they began to treat me very poorly. I was a servant, but worse, as I received no payment. They starved me and barely clothed me. My cousin had a tutor but I was forbidden from receiving any schooling myself.

“Mrs. Figg lived nearby. She offered to let me stay with her when I was six while the Dursleys took a small trip. She said she needed help with keeping her house and could use an extra pair of hands. When I arrived, a bath had been drawn for me and there were clean clothes waiting for me. I asked if I was too dirty to work in her house. She smiled and told me that I would not be working after all.

“She sat me down with parchment and a pencil and told me that she was going to teach me to read and write. I panicked, knowing that I was not allowed to do such a thing, and I thought that she may be playing a nasty trick, as my cousin often did to me. But then she took my hand to calm me.” He gave a sad chuckle. “No one had ever held my hand before. The only touch I had ever received was a slap or a punch or a shove. Sometimes my aunt would grab me by the ear to throw me into my cupboard if she was especially displeased with me.”

“Your cupboard?” Draco asked in confusion.

“Yes, I slept in a cupboard under the stairs. They did not want to waste a room on me. At least not at first.” He continued. “So her touch won me over. She could have manipulated me so easily if she wanted to, but she was… kind. We made a habit of meeting as often as possible. She would often pay my aunt and uncle for my ‘labour’ and I would go to her house to read and learn all that I could. She would smear some dirt on my cheek afterward to sell our little lie and send me back home. 

“She was very proud when I told her I was going away. She told me I would do great things. It was not until years later that I realized the truth.”

“The truth?”

“That she was a squib. That she had been sent by Professor Dumbledore to look after me. That once she saw how the Dursleys treated me, she took it upon herself to make sure I was ready for Hogwarts, even though she never said a word to me about it.”

“Wait. Did you not know you were a wizard?”

“No,” Potter replied. “I had no idea until my Hogwarts letter arrived.”

“Potter…” Draco trailed off in disbelief. This was too much. His mistreatment at the hands of his own family, his lack of wizarding education until he stepped foot onto Hogwarts ground, the fact that— “I cannot believe that Professor Dumbledore allowed that to happen to you.” He stood up, anger bubbling so suddenly in his blood that untamed magic rippled under his skin. 

Potter’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Draco paced in an attempt to calm himself, shocked by his own reaction to Potter’s story. “If Mrs. Figg looked after you on Dumbledore’s behalf then he knew. He knew what your family was like and what they did to you. And yet he allowed you to stay there and be treated like chattel.”

“There was no other choice. You said yourself that I was required to stay there for my protection.”

“And Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard outside of Merlin himself, was unable to persuade your family to treat you better?” 

Potter looked down in response, his teeth clenched. “He did do that. Once.”

“When?” Draco asked. 

“The summer before sixth year.”

“So fifteen years too late.”

Potter stood and came towards him, pointing a finger toward his chest. “You’re being unfair.”

“Unfair? The Wizarding World has built monuments to a man who let its saviour needlessly suffer as a child and continuously put him in harm’s way as an adolescent.” Draco laughed incredulously. “This is the man our society lauds and mourns.”

Potter’s jaw tightened before he spoke. “Well, Malfoy, you tried to murder him, so society is well aware of your true sentiments toward Albus Dumbledore.” 

Potter’s words hit him like a blow to the chest. “You know what I had to do. For my family. To survive. Do you really still hold that against me?”

“You want all of us to forgive you and your family for your mistakes, and yet you are unable to do so for a man who, no, was not perfect, but who died to protect all of us.”

“I was a child when I did the things that I did. If I knowingly allow harm to come to children when I am 100 years old, then please, Potter, take me to task.” Draco turned away and walked toward the creek to calm his nerves. He was angry at Dumbledore and angry at Potter for sticking up for him and angry that this lovely day was now ruined by history that would not go away no matter how hard Draco tried. 

“Malfoy,” he heard behind him and then felt a hand on his shoulder. “My relationship with Dumbledore was complicated.” He was quiet for several moments before he continued. “Hermione has also questioned his motives and role in my life, too, you know.”

His anger had dissipated as quickly as it came and he took a calm, clearing breath. “Malfoy and Granger of one accord?” Draco asked, still turned away from Potter. “What has the world come to?”

Potter moved forward to stand next to him. “Hermione’s concern is rooted in our friendship and her care for my well-being. So.” He cleared his throat. “What does it mean coming from you?”

“Potter,” Draco breathed and turned to face him. “I think you and I have always had a peculiar interest in each other’s comings and goings. Unless I was mistaken about the person clumsily following me about in sixth year?” Potter shook his head with an uncomfortable half-smile. “However much I thought I knew about you in school was all wrong, though. I thought that, well, that you were raised the same way I had been — praised for your powerful position in the world and lavished with any plaything you could possibly want. If I had received those things as a Malfoy, then surely the Boy Who Lived had an even better life than I did. However, I now know the truth and I… I would not wish that on most people, let alone someone whom I— I care for.” Draco searched his face, hoping that Potter had heard the meaning in his words.

Potter’s eyes widened, and his face slowly brightened with hope. He gently grabbed Draco’s arms, fingers curling around his biceps, and Draco reached forward to brush his thumb against his cheek. Potter melted into his caress, and it was no wonder as to why. If Potter had been starved of physical affection as a child, then of course he would react so strongly whenever Draco touched him. What would it be like to hold him close? To _kiss_ him? 

Draco took an unsteady breath at just the thought of it. His gaze dipped to Potter’s full, parted mouth, and Potter’s eyes shut tightly, all while Draco’s hand continued to caress his cheek. He took one step closer, though still not enough for their bodies to touch, and brought his other hand to the back of Potter’s neck. Potter suddenly whimpered, “please,” making Draco gasp, and then he brought their lips together. 

His mouth was warm, bitter with the taste of ale and salty from the sweat of their broom ride, but it was everything Draco wanted. Potter brought his arms around him, bringing him closer, and Draco melted into him eagerly, awash with arousal and belonging as they kissed one another. He wanted to lie Potter down in the grass and peel away his robes. He wanted to press kisses against his golden skin. He wanted to hear Potter beg for him again and again. He wanted— 

“HARRY? Are you out here?” A voice called from a distance. 

Potter’s eyes widened and they jumped apart. “It’s Ron,” he whispered. 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Obviously, Potter,” he replied in aggravation. He would know that buffoon’s voice anywhere. Leave it to a Weasley to interrupt such a moment. 

“I don’t know why he never uses a Patronus.” 

“What?” Draco asked in confusion. 

“HARRY!”

Potter sighed. “Over here, Ron!”

Draco straightened his robes, pointedly clearing his throat so that Potter would follow suit. “Oh,” Potter whispered and smoothed a hand through his hair, as if that would actually do anything to tame its unruliness. 

A moment later, Weasley appeared at the top of the hill and moseyed down the pathway to the creek. Draco took pleasure in the furrowed brow that appeared when he saw Draco standing there. 

“Uh, good day, Mr. Malfoy. I didn't realize you were here.” 

“Good day. I have been flying with Mr. Potter. We were just finishing a quick meal,” Draco replied, though they had barely touched their food. 

“I see.”

“Are you well, Ron?”

“Yes, I just came to see if you wanted to go to Mama’s for tea. She has just flooed to invite us.”

Potter looked between Draco and Weasley in obvious indecision. 

“Please, Mr. Potter,” Draco said, gesturing toward Weasley. “I was just leaving. I would not want to keep you from a Weasley affair.” Potter shot him a look of disapproval at his sarcasm, so Draco gave him the sweetest smile he could muster. “Thank you very much for such an… _enjoyable visit_.” He nodded goodbye to both of them and returned to the house to collect his things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next Tuesday! ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“When she asked if there was someone special in your life, and you said…” He bit his lip as he trailed off. “Did you mean—”_   
>    
>  _Draco swallowed and met his eyes. “Yes.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're over the hump now! Thanks again to 221brosiewilde for the beta and Inkpen4877 for the sensitivity reading.

  
  
  
The following Friday turned out to be a very busy day. Draco had an interview with Rita Skeeter at noon, necessitating the practice of talking points with his mother that morning, and they had their dinner with the Greengrasses that evening. 

Draco’s plan was to be as charming as possible when meeting Mrs. Skeeter and to paint the picture of a morose and repentant Malfoy family when discussing their past. It certainly was not a lie on his part, but he would be sure to lay it on thickly. 

It was difficult to concentrate during his practice session with his mother, for his thoughts kept wandering to The Kiss. And how beautiful Potter had looked. And how much he wanted to see him again. He had not heard from Potter since he left on Wednesday, and he wondered how he was faring. Had that been Potter’s first kiss with a man? If so, was he distressed that it happened? If not, was he disappointed? Surely Potter would have sent him an owl if not. Mrs. Malfoy had to pull Draco out of his reverie more than once, softly reprimanding him for his lack of focus. 

Despite his wandering mind, he still felt decently prepared to greet Mrs. Skeeter in their salon, ready not only with his own talking points, but also with Mrs. Granger-Weasley’s prepared statements about the charity. He offered to share the interview with Mrs. Granger-Weasley to make it seem less like the opportunity to help their reputation that it was, but she quickly declined when she realised whom the _Prophet_ would send. She did offer two words of advice: to cast a quick _Homenum Revelio_ at the end of the interview as Mrs. Skeeter “has ways of hiding in places she does not belong,” and to say that he was friends with Mrs. Granger-Weasley if things went awry. 

Mrs. Skeeter arrived ten minutes early, and Draco mused that her earliness might have been a tactic to catch her interviewees off guard. Draco took it in stride, and did quite well for the first part of the interview. Her Quick Quotes Quill barely moved when he discussed the charity but scribbled furiously whenever he discussed himself or the ball. She asked about his time in Azkaban before the trial (“Horrid and dark and a surefire way to realise the errors of your ways”), his mother’s heroics during the Battle of Hogwarts (“None of us would be here today without her sharp thinking and love for her family”), his budding partnership with Potter (“We are putting aside our differences for the good of Wizarding society”), and whether he had decided on his Hogwarts house for the ball (“I have not; you will have to wait and see.”)

Then she asked the question for which he had not prepared any answer. 

“Are there any developments on the personal front?” She asked, her beady eyes peering over her thin spectacles. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“Are you courting anyone? Is there a special someone in your life? You are a wealthy man who must be in want of a wife. My readers are dying to know.” She leaned forward in anticipation at such an unnatural angle that Draco thought a breeze might knock her over.

“Um,” he faltered, immediately picturing Potter begging to kiss him just two days ago. He felt the tips of his ears turn pink. Though he had not answered, Mrs. Skeeter’s quill worked furiously on the page. 

“Well?”

He gave an insincere chuckle. “Let a gentleman have his secrets, Mrs. Skeeter.” _Secrets_ , he berated himself. His mother was already suspicious of his letters; this would only make things worse. 

“Ah,” she said with a smirk. “Then I will certainly pay close attention to your dance partners the evening of the ball. There are no such things as secrets in the Wizarding World, Mr. Malfoy!”

“Indeed,” he said with disdain. “Though I can assure you, my life is not as exciting as you might imagine it to be.” He looked up to see that she was watching him very closely, making his skin itch with the intensity of her stare. He knew Mrs. Skeeter was not a powerful enough witch to cast _Legilimens_ silently _and_ wandlessly, but he still closed off his mind just in case. He looked at the clock to his left and feigned a gasp. “Oh, look at the time. My mother and I have tea with my friend, Mrs. Hermione Granger-Weasley, very shortly,” he lied. “Are you acquainted with her?”

Her eyes suddenly widened to the size of saucers and her quill drooped and wilted to the floor. “Yes, I, I believe we have been introduced.” 

What exactly did Mrs. Granger-Weasley hold over her? He was finding himself liking her more and more as of late. It seemed she was a formidable companion, and it was obvious that she must have been key to Potter’s victory over the Dark Lord. 

“We have been working quite closely on the charity ball. I am sure she will want to know everything about our interview.”

She gave a weak smile and stood up to take her leave. He waited several minutes after Quelter escorted her out and cast _Homenum Revelio_ , breathing a sigh of relief to find his mother to be the only human in the house. 

He survived Rita Skeeter; only a few hours left until he entered the other snake den. 

***

“How is the summer treating you in the city, Mrs. Malfoy?” asked Mrs. Greengrass. She was a ruddy-faced woman, plump after giving birth to four children. Her dress robes were very old fashioned, harkening to the style of his mother’s school days. 

“Very well, thank you,” replied his mother. “Especially now that Draco has returned from university.” She and Draco were seated diagonally from one another at the dining table; Mrs. Malfoy was next to Mrs. Greengrass and Draco was crammed between Miss Greengrass and Miss Astoria. The family could not have been more obvious in their desire to make a match. _As subtle as a bunch of Gryffindors_ , he thought. One really should expect greater social skills from a family of pureblood Slytherins. The two younger sisters, Miss Francine and Miss Charlotte, sat between their father and Mrs. Malfoy. 

“What did you study at school, Mr. Malfoy?” Miss Astoria asked. She looked truly interested and he welcomed her sincerity. 

“Blood magic,” he responded. “Particularly the magic of lineage.”

“Studying the superiority of pure blood, no doubt,” Mrs. Greengrass said in a haughty tone. 

“Actually—”

“Draco, darling,” his mother interrupted. “We do not want to bore our hosts with academia! Let us instead discuss your upcoming piece in the _Daily Prophet_. He sat down with Rita Skeeter just this afternoon to discuss our work with Harry Potter’s charity.” He gave his mother the smallest, most imperceptible glare he could without attracting attention. He knew very well that she had purposefully pivoted the conversation as to not offend their pureblood sensibilities. 

“Oo,” Mrs. Greengrass squealed with delight, no doubt imagining a son-in-law influential enough to land a story in the newspaper. Merlin help him if he ever did marry into this family. He pictured a lifetime of using any excuse possible to wriggle out of Sunday dinners and other familial obligations. 

As the matriarchs took turns discussing their children’s accomplishments as though they were not even in the room, Miss Astoria caught his eye and whispered. “I would like to hear more about your studies sometime.” 

“Of course,” he said, eliciting a smile from her in response. Draco could admit that she was pretty and agreeable, and if he did have to marry sooner than later ( _much later, please_ ), surely there were worse matches? Draco took a deep breath to calm his nerves and did his best to return her smile, but was immediately interrupted by her mother’s obnoxious squealing. 

The rest of dinner continued much the same way, with Mrs. Greengrass speaking thrice as much as anyone else and at a louder and louder volume with each glass of wine she consumed. She then demanded that Draco and Miss Astoria perform a singing duet when they retired to the parlour. Draco took a deep breath, wanting nothing more than to leave this charade and return to his quiet home to pine for Harry Potter in peace. He plastered the best smile he could and offered to play the _pianoforte_ for Miss Astoria, truthfully claiming that he was not a skilled vocalist. 

By the end of the evening, he had not spent a single moment alone with Miss Astoria and was on edge from her mother’s constant meddling. When he and Mrs. Malfoy finally said goodbye and Apparated home, he let out a cry of frustration.

“Merlin’s beard, Mother, that was the most insufferable social engagement I have ever attended, and we housed Azkaban-crazed Death Eaters in our home for a year.” 

“Really, Draco,” she replied calmly. “I thought you and Miss Astoria got on well enough.”

“I would not know as I did not even have a chance to speak with her. We could not say two words to each other without her mother butting in.”

“There will be time for that. You could meet her for tea soon and get to know her better.”

“Mother…” he said, deflated. “Surely this is not the family to whom you want to align the Malfoys. Do you really want to spend every Christmas with Mrs. Greengrass?”

“She would be your mother-in-law, not mine.” 

“Mother—”

“My darling, listen to me,” she interrupted, taking his hand. “I want what is best for you. I always have. I know it is not a perfect solution, but their pristine social standing would help us tremendously. We have to make sacrifices to make up for our association with the Dark Lord.”

“We _have_ made sacrifices,” he shouted, stepping away. “We lost Father, we lost our home, we lost our standing! We are giving tremendous amounts of money to every charity in Britain!”

Her eyes met his, pained and glossy with tears. “Our losses,” she said shakily, her mouth quivering. “Our losses are not enough.”

Draco’s chest tightened while watching his mother react so openly. Narcissa Black Malfoy hid her emotions from everyone, her face usually as cool as marble, but there she stood, her visage full of pain, completely unguarded. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to comfort her. “Mama,” he whispered, the word falling from his lips. He had not used that name since he had been a young child, before his father had taught him it was too soft and sentimental. So it was not a surprise when she gasped in response, and he rushed forward and enveloped her in his arms.

As soon as he held her against him, the top of her head resting under his chin, he felt her shake with sobs. “Mama,” he said again, his voice cracking as tears threaten to spill down his own cheeks. He held her like that for so long that he lost track of the time, bringing her as much comfort as he could while she cried uncontrollably in his arms, working through years of fear and worry and the loss of her husband. 

When she finally calmed down, he reached into his pocket, handed her his handkerchief, and kissed her forehead.

“Thank you,” she said, taking several moments to compose herself. “It is still hard sometimes, missing your father.”

“Of course it is.” It was not as difficult for Draco; at least, not as much as he thought it would be. A chasm had grown between him and his father during Draco’s sixth year as he had worked to save them from the Dark Lord’s wrath. As time had gone on, he had begun to place blame on his father for getting them caught up in the Dark Lord’s tangled webs to begin with. His obsession with blood purity and lust for power had been the downfall of their family and himself. He did miss him at times, as grief was a strange companion, but he had found it easier to deal with his death than one might think.

“Draco,” she said, pulling him out of his own brooding. “I read your notes like you asked me to. About blood magic.” 

“Yes?”

She smiled weakly. “I am so proud of you, of what you have accomplished.” She grasped his hand again. “And I do believe you about what your studies found, even if it is difficult for me to fully… accept knowing our family history and traditions.”

Draco smiled; it was a much better reaction than he had expected.

“But please,” she continued, “be careful with this information.”

“What do you mean?” he asked. 

“I think that many purebloods would be very angry if this came out, and it might cause trouble for you and your professor. It would shake the very foundation of wizarding society.” 

Draco was certainly not a revolutionary by any means, but a very small part of him, no doubt unearthed by his newfound proximity to members of Dumbledore’s Army, wondered if the Wizarding World could use a bit of shaking. 

“Thank you for your advice, Mama. I will carefully consider it.” 

She nodded before kissing his cheek and bidding him goodnight. 

***

Saturday brought too much introspection for Draco’s comfort. Should he take his mother’s advice and stay away from his professor’s upcoming publication? Should he, instead, bolster its success? Should he appease his mother and court Miss Astoria? 

The last question left a bad taste in his mouth. His mother had been correct; the right marriage would solve many Malfoy problems. Yet every time he thought of Miss Astoria, Potter would barge into his thoughts and question where he fit into the equation of Draco’s future.

Draco sighed, and flopped ungracefully onto an armchair in their small library, crooking one knee over the arm. He had found himself in suspended anguish the last few days, wondering if he should call upon Potter or let him take the next step. Potter was a Gryffindor, was he not? All stupid bravery with none of the anxiety over making the wrong move. And yet he had not made any move at all!

Suddenly, a beak tapped at the window, disrupting his brooding. He swished his wand at the window, not moving from his state of repose, and an owl that he did not recognise flew in and dropped a letter in his lap. Another wand movement brought a treat from the jar at his desk and he hovered it in front of the owl. 

The owl eyed it, but made no move to take it. “Well, go on. Take it and be gone with you.” The bird made an undignified squawk before taking the treat and darting out the window. 

He gasped when he saw the familiar handwriting and looked at the open door to make sure his mother was not nearby. In his haste to open the letter, he accidentally tore the page, and he cast a very careful _Reparo_ to mend it (too much enthusiasm in repairing the page would have left him with a blank parchment). When he unfolded the mended page, a smaller piece of parchment fell on his lap and he turned it over to read it.

It was an invitation to celebrate Potter’s birthday on July 31 at The Burrow. Warmth spread through Draco’s chest as if he had just downed a glass of Ogden’s. He put down the invitation and turned to the letter.

> _Dear Mr. Malfoy,  
>    
>  Please accept this invitation to celebrate my upcoming birthday at the Weasleys’ home. I realize that this may overfill the capacity for the number of Weasleys a Malfoy can handle at one time, but I hope that you can make an exception just this once._

The next paragraph had been scratched out so thoroughly that Draco could not make out what Potter had tried to say. He skipped to the next part.

> _I greatly enjoyed our time together Wednesday. I would love for you to call again soon, but I’m afraid the next couple of weeks are quite full. Perhaps some time after my birthday?_  
>    
>  Yours, affectionately,  
>  Harry Potter

Draco took a deep breath in an attempt to calm the myriad of thoughts in his brain. Potter wanted to see him again. Potter enjoyed their ‘time together’ on Wednesday. Potter wanted to subject him to an entire household of ginger Gryffindors. Potter was too busy and Draco had to wait an entire fortnight to see him again.

The good far outweighed the bad, and so he could not help but smile and sink further into his armchair as he thought about what another Potter rendezvous might bring.

“What has your head in the clouds? And why on earth are you sitting like that?” Mrs. Malfoy’s voice pulled him from his daydreams.

“Mother!” He shot up from his seat like a guilty first-year, scattering the letter and the invitation to the floor. “Nothing, just… enjoying a relaxing Saturday.”

“Mmm,” she said in disbelief, her eyes cutting to the letter on the floor. “I have guests coming for tea. Next time, close the door and keep your indolence to yourself.”

“Yes, Mama.” He smiled at an attempt to diffuse her suspicion, but she responded with one raised, pointed eyebrow and shut the door behind her. He took a deep breath. She knew something was going on, and he worried that tomorrow’s delivery of the _Prophet_ would only make it worse.

***

Tomorrow’s delivery of the _Prophet_ turned out to be a circus.

“Oh, Merlin, Mother! How many papers did you order?” Draco yelled over the cacophony of at least two dozen birds flying into their dining room and dropping copy after copy of the newspaper in front of Mrs. Malfoy.

“Thirty,” she responded before sipping her tea, as if this were a very normal Sunday morning occurrence. There were not even thirty Malfoys alive. What on earth would she do with them all? Draco swatted at their usual bothersome owl who tried to land on his head, and he reached for one of the papers. 

There it was on the front page, in the left-side column:

> _Draco Malfoy Buries Dark Past in Partnership with Longtime Rival, Harry Potter  
>  By Rita Skeeter_

“Dark past?” Draco asked, as if it were not completely true. The article spoke very little of the charity itself, and focused instead on Draco’s time after the war, his partnership with Potter, and excitement around the ball.

Then, of course, there was _that_ question. 

“‘And, dear readers,’” his mother read aloud. “‘I asked the question you all want to know: is there a special someone in Draco Malfoy’s life? “Let a gentleman have his secrets,” he responded, with a fetching blush.’” Mrs. Malfoy glanced up from the paper, giving him the same look she gave yesterday over his spilled letter.

Draco cleared his throat and turned to his own paper, rereading the sentence he had just skimmed.

“Well?” She asked.

“Yes?” He did not look up.

“Who is it?”

“Who is whom?”

“Do not play daft, Draco. Who are you courting? Who is sending you letters?” 

“I am not ‘courting’ anyone,” he said. A gentleman kissing another gentleman was hardly courting, was it? There would be no impending engagement or waltz down the aisle. 

“Is it Mrs. Granger-Weasley?”

“ _What!?_ ” Her question was so shocking that it knocked him backward into his seat. Him? And her?

“You two have been so friendly as of late, and if she were not already married, I would absolutely approve.” She began to tick items off of her fingers as she listed them. “She is close friends with Harry Potter, she was on the front lines of the war, she oversees the most talked-about charity in the Wizarding World… she even has an Order of Merlin, First Class!” 

Draco tossed his paper on the table and stood. “Mama, I love you dearly, but that is preposterous.” He had to leave before this conversation took a much scarier turn. “And now I shall leave you to your conspiracies about the adulterous Hermione Granger-Weasley.”

“Draco—“

“Goodbye, Mother!” Draco said, practically fleeing to the front door and apparating to the first place that entered his mind.

He rolled his eyes at himself when he saw that he had landed at the front gates of Godric’s Hollow. He knew that Potter was otherwise engaged and would not have been open to callers at this time, but he did not want to reenter the lair of Narcissa Malfoy. He decided a walk would be a better alternative to going home and began a leisurely stroll down the canopied road. 

Knowing that Godric’s Hollow was a large estate, he expected to follow its boundary along the road for some time. So he was not completely surprised when, several minutes later, he saw Mrs. Granger-Weasley kneeling at the base of a nearby tree with a pair of shears in her hand. 

“Good day, Mrs. Granger-Weasley.”

She startled. “Oh! It is just you.” She sighed in relief.

“Just me? Is my presence a disappointment?”

“No. You startled me. I thought you may be—”

“A Death Eater?”

She responded with such a piercing stare that it would give his mother a run for her money.

He bowed in apology. “I am sorry for both startling you and subjecting you to such crass and untimely humor.” 

“I thought you may be Mr. Potter. I am working on a potion for his birthday and do not wish for him to figure it out beforehand.”

“I sat in potions class with him for six years, Mrs. Granger-Weasley. I do not think he would know a potion ingredient in the wild if it grew legs and kicked him.”

She laughed. “You are probably right.” She clipped another stalk of leaves. “Are you here to see him?”

“Uh, no. Just out for a Sunday stroll.”

“’Tis a bit far from Horizont Alley, is it not?” 

“Yes, but I cannot get the country air there.” The excuse sounded thin to his own ears, so he would not expect Mrs. Granger-Weasley to believe him. 

“Whatever you say, Mr. Malfoy.” She gathered her ingredients and shears and placed them in a basket before standing. “I do need to head back to clean up before we go to the Burrow. I would be happy to escort you if you would like to have a word with Mr. Potter.” 

“I really did mean it when I said I was merely out for a walk.”

She put her hand on his elbow and steered him toward the manor. “Oh, hush. Come along.”

He gave what some may have called a dramatic sigh. “Very well, Ms. Granger-Weasley. I suppose I can make the time.”

They walked for several minutes until she spoke. “I have been meaning to write you. I have been reading some philosophy works lately, one of which has interested me a great deal. It discusses the possibility and ethics of providing magical potions and remedies to muggles. Are you familiar?” 

He shook his head. “I am not.” 

“It specifically looks at how magical healing is so much more advanced than muggle healing, and questions how and whether the Wizarding World should aid them.”

“I see. I had never considered that before.”

“Are you adverse to the idea?” she asked.

Draco had spent much of his life considering muggles with nothing but contempt, but life in France had been different. He had rented an apartment near the university from a muggle family and he had frequented muggle cafes and businesses. He had, without purpose, surrounded himself with people who had not an ounce of magic in their blood, but he had never thought to what he might have easily offered them through magical assistance. 

“No, I do not think I would be opposed though I would like to read further before making a decision.”

“Of course. I can ship the book to you when I have finished?” He nodded, and she looked up at him and smiled. “I have begun to enjoy our chats, Mr. Malfoy,” she said after a moment of silence. “Which is something I never thought I would say.”

“Likewise. To both statements.” 

She stopped on the path and turned toward him. “I do not think Mr. Potter has minded your presence of late either. ” 

“Oh?” he responded, schooling his features to be unreadable. 

“It is difficult being Harry Potter. The pressure weighs upon him. But he has been different lately. Happier. Distracted, even. And you seem to be the only new variable in the equation.” 

Draco cleared his throat. “Our social calls have been pleasant. I am happy to hear that he feels the same.”

He turned to continue their walk, but she did not follow him. He faced her again with an inquisitive brow. 

“Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter keeps his circle small for a reason. Everyone wants something from him; everyone is trying to take advantage of his name, his scar, his status. I do not think he has even made a new friend since fifth year. I say all of this because I am trying to give you the benefit of the doubt, much to my husband’s chagrin. But if you are another person in a long line of leeches waiting for their chance to suck him dry, I ask that you stop whatever it is you’re doing now. He deserves better than that.” 

Draco swallowed down a small ping of guilt, knowing very well that his relationship with Potter, whatever that might have been, was advantageous to his end goals. He instead tried to focus on the very good, very real feelings that being with Potter brought him, how his chest had constricted every time Potter had given him that bright, gorgeous grin. It felt too raw, too vulnerable to share any of that with Hermione Granger-Weasley, so he gave her the sincerest smile he could. 

“You have nothing to fear.” He extended his arm in an attempt to both end the uncomfortable conversation and to steer them toward the house. She looked him directly in the eyes, as if measuring him, and finally took his arm to continue. 

When they arrived, Mrs. Granger-Weasley asked Kreacher to fetch Mr. Potter, and she escorted Draco to the salon. The hallway leading to the room was lined with a variety of portraits. Draco would have guessed that several of them were painted in India as he recognised the style from childhood studies. In one, a young Indian woman wearing an orange, cropped shirt and matching skirt peered at him. She wore a necklace of pearls that extended down to her navel, and a large, beaded ring was pierced through her nose. Her long, black hair was covered by a sheer veil. 

“A new visitor, Hermione?” the woman asked with wide eyes. She seemed excited by the prospect.

“Yes, he is here to see Harry.” 

“Should you not introduce us, then?”

Mrs. Granger-Weasley gave an exasperated smile. “Aditi, may I present to you Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Malfoy, this is Aditi Potter, Mr. Potter’s grandmother.”

“Erm, a pleasure,” Draco said. He had always felt awkward talking with portraits, but she seemed to neither notice or care. 

“I do not get the chance to see many new people. We are very happy to have you here,” Mrs. Potter exclaimed.

Mrs. Granger-Weasley interrupted, “I unfortunately must hurry, so please allow me to escort Mr. Malfoy to the salon.”

Mrs. Potter pouted. “Very well. But do come back again, Mr. Malfoy!”

“I will,” he replied as Mrs. Granger-Weasley pulled at his arm.

“Here you are,” she said upon opening the door. “Mr. Potter should be here shortly. Thank you for the chat, Mr. Malfoy.” 

He bowed before she retreated. “Of course.”

When she closed the door, he heard Mrs. Potter shout, “handsome, no?” to Mrs. Granger-Weasley, and he grinned despite himself. 

He walked the edge of the room while waiting for Potter, taking in the view from the windows. Several minutes passed before Kreacher finally entered and Potter followed behind him. The ends of his hair were dampened, as if he had just recently bathed, and Draco spotted a bit of shaving soap beneath his left sideburn. He quickly shoved the image of Potter in a bathtub into a dark corner of his mind and locked it away for later.

“Malfoy! This is an unexpected surprise,” he said with a bright smile.

“Yes, I was on a stroll nearby and ran into Mrs. Granger-Weasley.” 

“We unfortunately don’t have much time before heading to the Burrow for the day, but I can ring for tea?”

“No, it is fine. I will not keep you.” He smiled. “Thank you very much for the invitation to your birthday party, by the way. I am honoured to attend.” 

“Even with a household of Weasleys?”

Draco raised a singular brow. “I did not say it would be without sacrifice.”

“Then I shall write to Minister Shacklebolt at once to recommend an Order of Merlin for your effort.”

“It is the least you could do, Potter.”

Potter laughed in response, but then his face sobered. “Malfoy.” He walked closer to him. “I read the _Prophet_ this morning.”

“Oh?” Draco responded. He had been so worried about his mother’s reaction that he had forgotten that Potter would be reading it as well.

“When she asked if there was someone special in your life, and you said…” He bit his lip as he trailed off. “Did you mean—”

Draco swallowed and met his eyes. “Yes.” _Yes, I meant you. Yes, I was thinking of our kiss when she asked. Yes, even now, I cannot stop thinking about you._

Potter looked down. “I see,” he said, more to himself than to Draco. Then he crossed the room, reached out to pull Draco against him, and crushed their lips together. 

Draco could have described their first kiss as soft, exploratory, timid. But this... this was brazen, confident, and purposeful. There was no need, he supposed, to beat about the bush if they both knew they wanted the same thing. 

Draco swept his tongue to part Potter’s mouth, eliciting a groan as his tongue met Draco’s. Potter wrapped his arms around him to pull him even closer, and heat pooled in his groin at the feeling of their bodies pressed together. _Merlin_ , how we wanted him. How he wanted this and so much more.

Draco’s hands tangled in those unruly locks and pulled his head back to bare his throat. His lips trailed to the small bit of skin uncovered by his starched collar and cravat. “Malfoy,” Potter whispered when Draco’s tongue pressed against his throat, and his hips thrust forward at the sound of Potter’s breathless plea. They both groaned at the movement, and he needed to feel Potter’s skin, he needed to be as close to him as possible. 

Suddenly a clock chimed, announcing the new hour, and Potter staggered backward, Draco whimpering at the loss of his body against his. He glanced up and saw that Potter looked a downright mess. His lips were red and full from their kisses, his collar was askew from Draco’s ministrations, and as Draco’s eyes traveled downward, he saw the unmistakable outline of his hard prick against his grey trousers. That did nothing to quell his own arousal, and he took a deep breath to calm himself. 

“When do you have to leave?” Draco asked.

“In a few minutes.” 

“Mmm.” He nodded before pulling his wand from his robes. He quickly transfigured Potter’s trousers to black, straightened his collar and hair, and glamoured his lips to return to their usual colour. “There. You look mostly presentable.”

“Thank you,” Potter replied, looking down. “Why the change in colour?” 

“In case it takes a while for… _that_ to go away,” Draco said with a smirk, his eyes glancing pointedly to Potter’s groin. “Or if it returns when your mind wanders back to this little moment, it will be easier to hide.”

Potter gestured toward his erection. “This is not typically a problem I have around Weasleys.”

“Even Ginny Weasley?” The question left his lips before he had realised it. _Great work, Draco_.

“Oh, um, no. Yes. No. I mean, It was a problem at first. I mean, I did not have a problem with— with,” he gestured toward his cock again, “arousal when we first courted.”

“I see,” Draco responded, hating the sudden turn in this conversation. He supposed Potter was lucky enough to at least be attracted to women in case he ever had to marry. Draco could certainly appreciate their beauty, but none had made him feel like Potter just did. 

As if he sensed his uncertainty, Potter closed the space between them and gave him a soft kiss. “Will we do this again, Mr. Malfoy?” 

“We will, Mr. Potter,” he responded against his lips. 

“My schedule really is very busy until my birthday. But after that?”

“Of course.” He took Potter’s hand and kissed it, noticing, for the first time since school, the scar he still carried from Umbridge’s cursed quill. Draco had laughed and laughed when it had happened, thinking that Potter had finally received the comeuppance that he had deserved. Now, though… 

“I am afraid I must leave you now. I will write to you if I can.”

“Very well,” Draco said, dropping his hand. “Oh, Potter, if you write again, please do not sign any letters you send me.” 

“Why not?”

“My mother has a prying eye.” 

“Oh.” His brow furrowed. “I could always sign them ‘H.’”

“No! No. My mother has a prying eye and also thinks I am having an adulterous affair with Hermione Granger-Weasley.”

Potter laughed. “You jest!”

“I do not. I am trying to decide if the truth is better or worse!”

“I personally like the truth better.” Potter gave him a playful grin that made Draco’s insides flutter in a most embarrassing way. 

Voices carried from outside the door, marking their time to part ways. 

Potter cupped his hand to his own ear. “Is that your mistress I hear?” he asked. Draco rolled his eyes and pushed him away. 

“I immensely regret telling you that.”

“Goodbye, Malfoy,” Potter said, before joining his friends to leave. 

***

Draco had not, until that night, touched himself while thinking of Potter. It was not because of a lack of desire, of course. He wanted Harry Potter more than he was comfortable admitting. No, instead he had feared that his feelings were one-sided or that their first kiss had only been a one-time occurence. If he had started thinking about him in such an inappropriate manner, he had been unsure if he would have been able to stop if the attraction had not been mutual. However, now they had kissed like _that_ , like nothing else and no one else mattered. He had felt Potter’s body against his own and he had seen the evidence of Potter’s own attraction and arousal. Potter wanted Draco just as much as Draco wanted him. 

Draco’s hand drifted under his nightshirt, trailing down his stomach before wrapping around his cock. He was already hard just thinking of their kiss and the sweet sounds Potter had made when Draco had licked and nibbled his neck. What would have happened if Potter had not needed to leave so suddenly? He liked to think that they could have taken their time, undressed each other slowly, letting their hands and mouths wander. Yet he knew the intensity of their desire would not have allowed for that.

They would have ended up on a chaise, cravats left half undone in frustration, fall fronts open so that they could rut against each other with pre-come slicking the way. And kissing, of course. They would never stop kissing. How could Draco resist when Potter’s mouth was so full and pink and such pretty sounds parted from those lips?

He could resist just fine if those lips moved to Draco’s cock, he thought suddenly. He moaned at the image, feeling himself get closer. Had Potter ever done that with anyone? Draco would be happy to teach him, to grab him by his dark curls and guide Potter’s mouth over his cock. Potter would look at him with glistening eyes as Draco’s length slid in and out between his lips, and oh, the thought of Potter pleasuring him in such a manner sent him very quickly over the edge. His eyes squeezed shut at the intensity of his climax, his cock pulsing ribbons of come on his nightshirt. His body shuddered, and he breathed heavily until his body stilled.

He sighed as he grabbed his wand to clean himself. He had at least a fortnight until he could see Potter again, and he had no idea how he could wait so long. Even after his body had been sated, he felt such an intense yearning to see him and be with him.

Circe, he really was absolutely besotted with Harry Potter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I want more than one night with you. I want…”  
>   
>  “What do you want?”  
>   
> “Impossible things,” he whispered._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favorite chapter? Yes!
> 
> I forgot to mention last chapter that [this](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nih%C3%A2l_Chand#/media/File:4_Radha_\(Bani_Thani\),_Kishangarh,_ca._1750,_National_Museum_New_Delhi.jpg) was the inspiration for Harry's grandmother's portrait.

  
  
The next two weeks found Draco much busier than he would have thought otherwise. He attended a number of meetings with his mother and Mrs. Granger-Weasley to prepare for the ball and had dinner with a number of families who were suddenly interested in the Malfoys now that they were returning to good graces. 

It had been a while since he had corresponded with Professor Bernard, so he sent him a missive three days before Potter’s birthday to inquire as to the status of the research publication. He received a letter two days later that said that he had had trouble finding an academic journal willing to publish such controversial work.

> _As you know all too well, Monsieur Malfoy, most pureblood wizards will not take kindly to such an upset. My search for a publisher continues and I will contact you again once I have received good news._

Draco was not surprised to hear of this. He could imagine Mrs. Greengrass, her ruddy face pinched and crossed at the possibility of losing the one claim her family had to sitting atop of the Wizarding hierarchy. His own mother would not have fared much better if her own son had not been involved in the findings. In some distant future, the Sacred Eight and Twenty would be nothing but a name, and he would be directly involved in its downfall.

His father would have called him a blood traitor, but Draco locked that thought away. Lucius Malfoy had betrayed their family more than Draco ever could. So Draco penned a response to Professor Bernard, offering to help in any way that he could.

***

On the thirty-first of July, Draco awoke before the sun, too excited to see Potter and too anxious to be surrounded by Potter’s friends to be able to sleep. When getting ready, he snapped at Fitzy who suddenly seemed incapable of tying a cravat properly, sending him on his way to allow Draco to finish it himself. He felt a pang of guilt five minutes later and called him back to apologise. 

“Apologise?” Fitzy asked. “Mr. Malfoy wants to apologise?”

He sighed. “Yes.”

“To Fitzy?”

“Yes, Fitzy! Is there anyone else standing in this room of whom I am unaware?”

“No, sir. Just. Fitzy has never heard Mr. Malfoy say sorry to anyone. Not even to Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Well there is a first time for everything, is there not? Now let us move on before I regret it.” Fitzy bowed and retrieved Draco’s robes, made of pale grey linen to alleviate the summer heat, and finished dressing him.

He spent the morning with his mother, and then apparated to the Burrow in the afternoon. When he arrived, his eyes fell on a crooked, leaning tower of a home, which looked susceptible to a tumble by a stiff breeze or even a meager shove. There were tents outside, striped white and green, with tables and chairs lined beneath them. Children ran about the grassy field next to the house, laughter filling the air as they chased each other. There were at least 30 people milling about, many of whom Draco recognized, but some he did not. There was a circle of Weasley siblings to his left and Kingsley Shacklebolt was in deep conversation Neville Longbottom further down the field. Draco’s hands fidgeted nervously at his side as he realized that Potter might be the only person there who did not hate him, and since Potter was the reason for today’s fête, it would be a very lonely day indeed.

Suddenly, a voice called out, “Mr. Malfoy!” and Draco turned to see Mrs. Granger-Weasley walking toward him, dressed in ivory cotton dress robes, her skirts tangling behind her in the breeze.

“Good day to you,” he responded.

“Good day! Welcome to the Burrow. If you have a gift for Mr. Potter, you can add it over there.” She pointed to a table already filled with presents.

“Thank you,” he said, palming the shrunken gift in the pocket of his robes. It was private and required an explanation, and he did not want to do that in front of a gaggle of Weasleys if he could help it.

“There are drinks there — butterbeer, punch, and ale. Oh, and there are hor d'oeuvres available until the meal is served. Mr. Potter is—” she stood on her tiptoes, looking around to find him “— well, he is around here somewhere.”

“Thank you again. I will try to find him.” Draco left to get a cup of butterbeer, his eyes searching for Potter or anyone else who would not look at him like they would be perfectly happy to murder him on sight. He luckily spotted Miss Lovegood’s golden curls, and began to walk toward her until he felt a pull on his robes. He turned and a boy with green hair looked up at him curiously. 

Oh. Draco should have known that he would be here. 

“Are you Draco Malfoy?” the boy asked. 

“I am,” he replied, his voice wavering in discomfort.

“I am your cousin, Edward Lupin. But you can call me Teddy.” His face was red from playing out of doors, and his hair was damp with sweat. 

“Oh. Well.” Draco took a deep breath. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Teddy.” 

“Technically you are my first cousin, once removed, but Grandmama told me that saying ‘cousin’ was fine too.” 

Draco looked around. “Does she know that you have come to speak with me?” 

He nodded. “We discussed it this morning. Uncle Harry has been telling me all about you, you see, so I wanted to meet you.” Well that certainly made Draco’s chest heat up with affection. Teddy grabbed his hand, not allowing Draco even a second to think on that feeling. “Come! Let me show you something!” 

So Draco found himself jogging to keep up with Teddy as he pumped his tiny legs to sprint behind the house. A large garden sprawled before them, budding with ripening fruit and vegetables. Pumpkins, still small and green at that point in the summer, peeked from behind large leaves, and fat, red tomatoes drooped heavily on stems as if they may fall at any moment.

Teddy let go of his hand and knelt in the dirt, motioning for Draco to join him with one hand and putting his index finger to his lips with the other to quiet him. He lifted one of the large leaves of the pumpkin plant, and there sat a garden gnome munching happily on a strawberry, his little face covered in red juices. His eyes opened and widened a second later when he saw Teddy. He gasped and then made a very quick escape into the thick of the garden.

Teddy giggled. “That was Bitty. He is always scared.”

“Maybe because you always frighten him,” a voice called from behind causing Draco to turn. Though he had only seen her once before, he would still be able to recognize her from just her eyes and nose, which were so similar to his mother’s. “What did I tell you about going into Mrs. Weasley’s garden?”

Teddy looked down. “That I have to ask first.” Then he huffed. “I just wanted to show Cousin Draco the gnomes!”

Draco grimaced at the suddenly uncomfortable situation, but stood to greet her. “Good afternoon, Aunt Andromeda. I, uh, assure you that Teddy caused no harm this time.” Teddy grinned at him, his eyes crinkling above his chubby cheeks. 

Mrs. Tonks studied him for a moment before speaking. “Good afternoon. I hope —” she squared her shoulders before continuing, “I hope that Teddy has not bothered you too much.” 

“On the contrary. I am not well acquainted with many people here,” Draco said, ignoring her raised brows at his lack of good acquaintances. “He has proven to be a friend already.” 

They stood there in silence for a moment, and Draco thought he might perish from the awkwardness. 

“Well—” he began, and at the same time a voice called, “There you are! I have been looking for you!” He looked up and saw Potter walking toward them. His suit was the colour of a cloudless, sunny day, and a matching top hat sat on his head. A flurry of pixies danced in Draco’s stomach at just the sight of him. Oh, how he wished he could reach out and touch him.

“Uncle Harry!” Teddy exclaimed and left Draco’s side to run and greet him. Potter knelt down and embraced him tightly. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you, Teddy,” he replied and then looked up at Draco. “I see you have met a new friend.”

“Not a _friend_. My cousin.”

“Ah yes.” A grin threatened to grow at the corner of Potter’s mouth, but he schooled his features in time. “I was mistaken.” Potter stood up and leaned over to kiss Mrs. Tonks’s cheek. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Tonks. Are you enjoying the party thus far?”

Her eyes darted to Draco, but then she gave a small nod. “Yes, thank you. Happy birthday, dear boy.” 

Potter smiled in thanks, then walked over to Draco and extended his hand. Draco took it in his own and wished that neither of them were wearing gloves so he could feel Potter’s skin against his own. “Happy birthday, Mr. Potter.”

“Thanks. Would you accompany me to get some punch?” Draco looked down at the still-full butterbeer in his hand, but he was not going to let that keep him from taking the escape that Potter had offered.

“I would be honored.” He bowed to Mrs. Tonks and Teddy. “It was a pleasure to see you.”

Mrs. Tonks replied with a tight smile and grabbed Teddy’s hand to meander to another part of the garden.

“I am sorry if that was awkward for you,” Potter said as they walked to the drinks table.

Draco lifted one shoulder in an attempt at nonchalance. “I survived. And Teddy was very friendly. I am not sure if he knows our family history.” 

“He is young; I am sure there will be a time for that.” Potter ladled himself a glass of punch. “However,” he paused, “Mrs. Tonks is very protective of him, especially since she lost Mrs. Lupin at such a young age. If she did not want you to speak with Teddy, she very well would not have allowed Teddy anywhere near you.”

“Oh?”

Potter nodded. “She is a very caring person and a wonderful grandmother. She has kindly welcomed my presence in Teddy’s life.”

“Yes, well _you_ are Harry Potter, and _I_ am a member of the family who disowned her because she married a muggle.” 

“You had not yet been born, Mr. Malfoy.” Potter took a drink of his punch, standing in silence for a moment before speaking again. “I have spoken of you. To her. I mention her caring nature to you because it would not surprise me to know that she has the capacity to, one day, make room in her life for you if you so choose.”

A trembling breath escaped Draco’s lips. Could it be possible to have family who had never served the Dark Lord? To be closely bound by blood to someone besides his dear mother? There were Malfoys and Blacks in distant branches of the family tree, but this was different. This was his mother’s sister. His thoughts were interrupted by Potter grasping his elbow and giving it a light squeeze. Draco looked up to see him give a reassuring smile, but his heart felt too open and vulnerable to return it.

“Just give her time,” Potter said softly, and Draco nodded hesitantly in response. 

A voice suddenly called out, “‘Appy birthday, Mr. Potter!”

He turned to see Rubeus Hagrid coming toward them from the other side of the field. Draco looked at Potter and gave a small bow. “I shall let you make your rounds,” he said, turning tail before he was forced into an inane conversation with a creature-obsessed simpleton. 

It did not take long for the meal to begin, and he was, thankfully, placed next to Miss Lovegood and not next to one of the dozen Weasleys in attendance. Penelope Clearwater sat on her other side, and while Miss Lovegood spoke with her frequently, she still engaged Draco in stimulating conversation.

The party gave way to dancing, starting with Potter and Mrs. Granger-Weasley moving to the dance area. Draco stood on the side, watching as the pair twirled together. What would it be like to ask Potter for a dance, to touch him openly, to allow the world to see his private affection? What would it be like to ask for so many dances that every person at this festive occasion knew the intentions that Draco Malfoy had for Harry Potter?

Draco shook his head and tore his eyes away from Potter, finding himself looking at Miss Lovegood. She was gazing wistfully at the dancers, and Draco came to her side.

“May I have the next dance, Miss Lovegood?”

“What?” she asked with a jump, clearly startled by his interruption.

“Would you like to dance?”

“Oh. Oh, yes, thank you.” They waited until the next song began, and then he escorted her to the dance line. As they began to move, however, she seemed distracted. Well, she seemed more distracted than usual. 

“Are you well, Miss Lovegood?” 

“Hmm? Oh, yes. I am just—” she paused. “Pining.”

“Pining?”

“Yes. Longing.”

“I see.” He wondered who could be the object of Luna’s affection, but was unsure how to ask. They split apart to circle the couple behind them and came back together. 

She looked up at him. “It’s a funny feeling, yes?” 

His eyes wanted to find wherever Potter happened to be, but he quickly reined in that temptation. “Are you implying that I am pining as well, Miss Lovegood?” 

She grinned. “Are you not?”

He lifted his chin. “I do not feel inclined to answer that question.”

Miss Lovegood chuckled and they continued their dance. “How did you know?”

“Know what?” he responded.

“That your feelings were requited?”

“I…” he trailed off. “I did not know for sure.” He lowered his voice. “I told him in so many words, and then I hoped.”

She closed her eyes. “Hope is a beautiful thing, is it not?”

***

As the party came to a close, Draco sat on a bench near the garden. The sun was still in the sky, but it was nearing twilight. It was quieter here and it allowed him to catch his breath from the day’s activities. At least, that had been his plan.

“Cousin Draco!” 

Draco looked up to see Teddy trudging toward him.

“Yes?”

Teddy climbed into his lap, which was certainly not something with which Draco was acquainted. “Grandmama let me get on a broom with Uncle Harry today! It was my first time.”

“Uh, yes, I saw,” he replied, a bit uncomfortable with the physical proximity. However, he tried to ignore it. “Though I did not realize that it was your first time. Did you enjoy it?”

“It was a little scary, but once I got used to it, it was great fun!” He fiddled with Draco’s cravat. “And then Uncle Harry gave me an extra bit of cake for being brave.”

“That is nice,” Draco said.

“Do you like cake?” Teddy leaned against Draco’s shoulder.

“I do.”

“Hmm, me too,” he mumbled sleepily. When Draco looked down, he saw that the boy had closed his eyes.

“What is your favorite kind?”

“Apple,” he whispered, his hand loosening around Draco’s cravat.

While it was no wonder why a young boy would be so tired after a long day, Draco would not have expected to be in this position. He sat there for several moments, wondering what he should do. Teddy’s body slackened, and out of fear that his head might fall and hit the bench, Draco brought his arms around him to hold him in place. 

They stayed there for several minutes, and Draco realized that it was all together… pleasant. If he pulled Teddy a bit closer to cuddle against him, well certainly no one would notice.

“Someone is very attached already,” Potter said just behind Draco, catching him in the act.

“I do not know what you mean.”

He grinned. “Teddy. He seems to be fond of you.”

“Oh. Right.” Draco cleared his throat.

Potter sat next to him. “How did you find yourself here?”

“He crawled in my lap to tell me about his latest adventures, and then—” he gestured with his head toward the bundle in his arms. Potter smiled and then scooted closer, pressing their arms and thighs together. “Did you enjoy your birthday?”

“I did. Did you survive a day with the Weasleys?”

“I believe George Weasley may be planning a dastardly prank against me, but other than that, I may live.”

Potter huffed a laugh, and his hand brushed hair from Teddy’s face. His face turned serious and then he met Draco’s eye. “Mr. Malfoy, I — I was wondering if you would like to spend the evening with me.” 

Draco’s heart began to pound fiercely in his chest. “Oh?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

He nodded. “If you are agreeable,” he pulled a folded strip of paper out of his pocket and handed it to him. When he opened it, he saw a familiar address.

> _12 Grimmauld Place, London_

Potter continued. “If we want to… explore this affair, I am not sure if Ron and Hermione would understand. I thought we could meet here instead.”

Draco understood. Even if Potter did not have the obligations that Draco did, surely it would be difficult for his friends to understand him falling for Draco Malfoy of all people. He nodded. “Yes, I would like that very much.”

Potter exhaled and grinned. “Meet me there in an hour?”

***

Draco disapparated and arrived at the steps of 12 Grimmauld Place. He had not been here since he had been a very small boy when his Great-Aunt Walburga had still been alive. It seemed much the same on the outside, though he was almost too nervously distracted to notice. His hand shook as he reached for the knocker, but Potter was already opening it before he touched it.

“Good evening,” Potter breathed. His smile was nervous. 

“Good evening,” he replied, tamping down the flutters against his ribcage. Potter still stood in the doorway and made no effort to move out of the way. “May I come in, or shall we rendezvous here on the stoop?”

Potter sighed in faux exasperation and stepped back to allow him inside. Draco took off his hat and gloves and looked around the foyer. It was much lighter than he remembered; the Black family portraits and horrifying elf heads had been replaced with landscapes and still life paintings. 

“May I take your hat? This house isn’t used often and we do not keep an elf staffed here.” Draco handed it over and Potter stepped out of the foyer to put it away. While he did so, he removed the gift from his pocket and enlarged it to his normal size. It was wrapped in brown parchment with a gold ribbon tied around its center.

“What is this?” Potter asked when he reentered the foyer. 

“I heard it was someone’s birthday,” Draco replied, trying to keep his lips from twitching upward. But it was difficult when he was here, completely alone with Harry Potter, looking so gorgeously sinful in the soft light of the candelabra.

Potter returned his smile and gestured down the hallway. “Would you like to join me in the salon? We can open it there.” Draco nodded in agreement and followed him into the room. He had been in here before, of course. He remembered gliding his hands along the branches of the Black Family Tapestry, the woven fibers scratching his fingertips as he had traced the image of his own face and his mother’s too. He was therefore surprised to see that the tapestry had been removed, now replaced with navy walls and landscapes and portraits.

“The tapestry is gone,” Draco said. 

Potter’s brows knit in confusion. “You have been here before?”

He nodded. “Yes. When I was a boy. Before Great-Aunt Walburga passed.”

“Oh. Right. Yes. It was… well, an unkind reminder of how the Black family treated those who stood up against them, including my godfather. It wouldn’t be right to keep it here.”

Draco did remember the burned spots, names and faces that had belonged to blood traitors who had dared to defile the family. “No, you are right.” He suddenly felt, as he so often did, the weight of being a Malfoy, a Black, a former Death Eater. The cruelties committed by his ancestors — _Circe_ , even by himself when he had been young and so willfully blind — would always stay with him, a spot he could never wash out.

“Malfoy?” Potter asked, tilting his head. 

Draco was not sure how long he had been lost in his own mind, so he cleared his throat and plastered on a smile. He shuffled those nasty thoughts into the corner of his mind, shuttering them out with Occlumency; he was not going to let anything ruin tonight. “Right. Your present.” He stepped forward and handed it to him.

Potter smiled and tucked into the package, his lip caught temptingly between his teeth as he did so. The parchment fell to the floor and in his hands was a book, bound in mahogany-coloured leather, the gold-tipped pages shimmering in the candlelight. 

“It is a paired diary. I have the other. Anything you write in your copy will show up in mine. So we can write to each other without prying eyes.” He reached forward and softly clasped Potter’s wrist, his fingertips caressing the soft skin there. “And this way we can write… _whatever_ we want.” Potter’s eyes met his, and he let the weight of his words hang between them. “For example, if I were to miss your soft lips,” he said softly, bringing up his other hand to rub the pad of his thumb against Potter’s mouth, “I could open up the diary and speak to how they feel against my own. How sweet your mouth tastes.”

Potter took a trembling breath. “Do you?”

“Hmm?” 

“Miss them,” he whispered, ducking his head as he spoke.

“Every waking hour.” Draco’s thumb was still caressing the edge of Potter’s mouth.

“And in dreams?” Potter’s tongue flicked outward to meet his fingertip as his eyes met Draco’s once more.

“Yes,” Draco gasped, taking the book from his hands and throwing it onto the nearby settee. “Gods, Potter, yes.” Then Draco’s hands were tangling in his curls and he was pressing their mouths together in an achingly searing kiss. 

Potter groaned against Draco’s lips, his mouth opening to Draco’s tongue, and _Merlin_ , he was already dizzy from their kisses, from just their bodies pressed together. How would he make it through a whole evening?

Potter pulled away, and Draco whined, following his mouth because why on earth would he stop? “I—” Potter started, but Draco stopped him with another kiss. “Malfoy, mmph, Malfoy,” he took a step back, “I have a bedroom here.”

“Yes, Potter, it _is_ a house. A house which you own.”

He rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to continue there?”

Of course he would. He would like that very much. “I suppose that could be arranged.”

Potter took his hand and pressed against him once more. “I want you too badly, Mr. Malfoy, to play games.” He stepped back, their hands still entwined, and he pulled Draco to encourage him to follow. “Please.”

And he could not tease Potter when he looked so earnest, so full of longing. So he nodded and followed him out of the salon and up the stairs to the open bedroom on the landing. When they entered, Draco saw that a candelabra was already lit and set upon the table next to the bed, and the windows were open to the warm night air.

_He has prepared for this_ , Draco thought with a shiver. 

“Are you cold?” Potter asked, placing a hand on his forearm.

“No. No, I am fine.” He could not believe that he was here alone with Harry Potter, with a large, tempting bed and not a soul around to disturb them. Weeks of wanting and unquenched desire would finally give way to the pleasure they both so desperately wanted. So it was not a surprise that his hands were suddenly shaking as they reached for Potter’s lapel, pausing as they brushed the fabric. “May I?” His voice was so soft that it was foreign to his own ears. Potter nodded and Draco slid the coat off of his shoulders, the sound of it hitting the floor breaking the quiet of the night.

“Malfoy,” Potter breathed, his hands stopping Draco’s as they moved to the buttons of his waistcoat. “You should know that I — I haven’t done this before.” 

“ _Oh_.” He _should_ have known it. Potter kept to his very small circle, and he certainly did not seem interested in Weasel or Longbottom. 

Potter laughed nervously. “Is that alright? Will you turn me out?”

“Of your own house?” Draco replied, his mouth quirking in response. His thumb stroked Potter’s cheek, a new heaviness falling upon them as Draco realized the significance of Potter’s words. Potter had never been with a man; he might not have been with a woman, either. Draco had to make this absolutely perfect for him. “I will be with you every step of the way.” Then he kissed him, his fingers fumbling to unclasp Potter’s waistcoat. “Merlin, why are you wearing so many blasted buttons?”

Potter laughed, but this time it was soft and cheerful. “I can do it.”

“No, no. It is your birthday. You can hardly strain yourself by something so strenuous as removing your own clothing.” He pulled back to continue his work.

“As if you have not had an elf undressing you your entire life.”

“I dressed myself at Hogwarts, thank you very much, Mr. Potter.” Finally he was finished, removing the waistcoat before making quick work of his cravat. Potter’s collar fell open when he removed it, the pressed, white linen a stark contrast to the dark skin at his neck. He looked so gorgeously undone that Draco momentarily forgot to breathe.

Potter reached down and untucked his shirt, slipping it off to reveal lithe muscles, his body taut and firm from years of broom-riding. Draco allowed himself to take in the sight before pressing his palms to Potter’s chest, his fingertips brushing against his clavicle. 

“Your turn, isn’t it?” Potter asked, his voice already darkened with desire. Indeed, Draco was unsurprised to see the outline of Potter’s hard prick against his pale trousers. Draco nodded, and while Potter reached forward to remove Draco’s robes with his hands, he felt the telltale signs of magic buzzing around his body as his waistcoat and cravat began to undo themselves.

“Potter, what on _earth_?”

He shrugged, pulling at Draco’s shirt from the waistband of his trousers. “I do not need a wand for much these days.”

“But wandless and without incantation?”

Potter shrugged again, as if that were answer enough. 

“You know,” Draco said, lifting his arms to allow the magic to pull his shirt over his head. “I am choosing to ignore that the most powerful wizard in the world is only three and twenty years old and is currently undressing m—”

Potter interrupted him with a sharp intake of breath. “Malfoy.” 

“What?” Draco responded. Potter’s eyes were glued to Draco’s body, and when he looked down, he realized that he was staring at the silver-white scars crisscrossing along his chest and torso. “Oh. Right.”

“Are those—”

“Yes.” Draco averted his eyes and hastily reached for the buttons of Potter’s trousers. 

“Oh, Malfoy.” He sounded pained. “I am so very so—”

“Stop it,” Draco snapped, his hands falling to his sides, anger curling up his spine so quickly that he felt almost dizzy with it. “Just… Circe, for once can there not be a war hanging over us?” 

He eyed Draco warily for several moments before speaking. “We cannot just… forget that the war happened.”

“Why ever not?”

“Because we’re _us_. Our history is tangled and messy and has been since our first night at Hogwarts. Ignoring that cannot be wise, and does not even seem possible. It would only make matters worse in the long run.” 

Draco scoffed. “I am a Malfoy. We are experts at sweeping things under the rug.” 

Potter smiled sadly. “Throwing a rug over a boulder will not hide the boulder.”

Draco clenched his jaw, and turned to walk toward the open window, realizing it had begun to rain outside. “Do you not want just one night with me where we forget all of these things?”

“I want _more_ than one night with you, Draco.” Draco turned, stunned to hear his name from Potter’s lips; a blow to his chest as sharp as a stunning spell, one that he would willingly subject himself to again and again. Potter closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them once more. “I want more than one night with you. I want…” He trailed off. 

Draco crossed the room and carefully cupped Potter’s face in his hands. “What do you want?”

“Impossible things,” he whispered, his face creasing in anguish. Draco understood; he understood him perfectly. Draco was a man who would never be able to love a woman; he would always want impossible things. 

He could not allow himself to think of the future, a future with a wife and an heir, where he could no longer have this. But tonight—

“We have tonight. I do not know what tomorrow will bring, but there is tonight. What do you want right now?”

“You,” Potter said with resolute conviction.

Draco took a shaky breath. “Then I am yours.”

Potter kissed him, softly at first, until Draco brought their bodies together, both of them groaning at the feel of their bare skin touching for the first time. Potter’s hesitancy regarding his lack of experience seemed to disappear as he pushed Draco back onto the bed, vanishing their clothes with a wave of his hand. He stood above him, and Draco drank in the sight of him; his broad chest, his tapered hips, his cock thick and heavy at the apex of his thighs. Merlin, he rivaled Adonis himself.

“You are beautiful,” Draco said before he even realised that the words had escaped his mouth. Potter ducked his head, smiling despite himself, before crawling on top of him. Then he ground his hips against Draco’s, and Potter moaned so sweetly, his head tipping back, baring his throat in an invitation for Draco to kiss and bite and suck and bruise. 

Draco had had plans for their first time; he had wanted to wrap his mouth on Potter’s prick, to feel him come, salty and warm, on his tongue. But their ministrations were over before he could even get that far, their hard lengths sliding against each other and Potter pressing kisses to Draco’s open mouth. 

Potter came with Draco’s name on his lips, a cry that sounded as though it were wrenched from the very depths of his soul, and Draco could not last a second longer upon hearing it. His back arched, pressing him against Potter’s chest, his seed spilling and smearing between their bodies. 

Potter fell to the side, the most gorgeous smile gracing his lips, and he reached out to stroke Draco’s hair. “Do you have to be on your way soon?” Draco shook his head. “Then we can lie here for a while?”

_Forever?_ “Yes.”

They crawled under the covers and faced each other, legs tangling as magic tingled against his skin while Potter cleaned the traces of their coupling.

“Do you even need a wand anymore?” Draco asked, taking Potter’s hand in his own.

“Yes, I do. Just not for easy spells.”

“Is it because you defeated the Dark Lord? Did his power transfer to you?”

“That may be part of it. Hermione thinks it is a combination of a few things.” He took a deep breath and told Draco about the Elder Wand, that it was more than a children’s tale, that Draco himself had been its master for a time. 

Draco blinked. “But I had no idea.”

“None of us did.”

“I mean to say. I certainly was not more powerful during that time. I was not running about and casting wandless spells.” 

“I did not know either until the battle. But I also didn’t know that I had magic within me until Mr. Hagrid rescued me from my family. I think knowing that the Elder Wand answers to me has allowed me to harness its power.” Potter absently stroked his thumb over Draco’s knuckles as he spoke. “Hermione also thinks that because I was willing to die to try to protect everyone, it somehow compounded and strengthened the power my mother’s sacrifice gave me. Then when I used that in combination with the Elder Wand’s power…”

“You became The Boy Who Lived to be the Master of Death.”

Potter wrinkled his nose. “Oh, please don’t. I detest all of that so much.” 

Draco squeezed his hand. “I am sorry. I did not mean—”

“It’s not your fault I just—” he turned over onto his back and stared at the canopy above them, “—I tire of being _the_ Harry Potter and all of the rest of that rubbish.” He was silent for several moments before he turned back over. “I wish I could just be me. I wish I were just—”

“Just Harry,” Draco said, and Potter met his gaze with an intake of breath.

Potter closed his eyes, a soft smiling drifting onto his face. “Please. Say it again.”

“Harry,” he breathed. He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “Harry.”

Harry deepened the kiss and pressed him to the bed before climbing over him. It did not take long to return to the furious and desperate friction of body against body, Harry’s mouth against his throat.

“Draco—Draco,” Harry uttered between kisses. “I have oil.” Draco stopped and looked up at him. “If you want.”

Draco had never wanted anything more in his entire miserable life.

He parted his legs, telling Harry how to prepare him and make him ready. His touch was tentative but still exquisite, filling him up, making him ache. It felt even more so when his fingers brushed that spot within him that made him see stars.

“Like this?” Harry asked after slicking himself up, one hand gripping behind Draco’s knee while the other guided his length to his entrance.

Draco nodded and said, “Just, slowly,” and then Harry was pressing inside, his cock stretching him and filling him. He cried out, and Harry paused and kissed his face, asking if he was alright.

“Yes, yes, please,” he uttered breathlessly and Harry began to thrust within him slowly, the two of them sharing kisses as they moved against one another. Soon the languid pace was not enough to sate the desperation of their desires, and Harry moved within him, harder and quicker, Draco clutching at Harry’s back, slick with sweat. He was already close to climax when Harry’s hand reached between them to wrap around his prick, and it was enough to send him over the edge, crying out in pleasure as Harry followed soon afterward, the softest whimper escaping his lips.

Draco looked up at Harry, their breathing harsh and quickened. The rain had not stopped, and it was pattering against the brick and cobblestones outside.

“Was that alright?” Harry asked, and Draco chuckled.

“I should be asking you that, should I not?”

Harry laughed and pressed their foreheads together. “Really, though.”

“It was better than I had even imagined.” 

They lay in bed for hours, their bodies entwined, fingers trailing over skin as the candles melted down to their wicks. They spoke of professors and quidditch and friends and birthdays past. They finally spoke of the war, too, and Potter hovered over him, pressing kisses to his scars in apology. 

“I thought that surely Madam Pomfrey would have healed them.” He ran his fingertips over the worst gash along his ribcage. 

“They are cursed, Harry. They would need more than dittany and a school healer to get rid of them.” Harry’s fingers were so light against his skin that it made him shiver. “If times had been different, my parents would’ve taken me to a very skilled healer who specializes in that sort of thing. But…” But the Dark Lord had already been in their home by that time, and the Malfoys had had more to worry about than a few scars.

Harry nodded. “Even with Voldemort’s best efforts, we are still here.” He huffed. “Alive despite it all.”

Draco took a shaky breath, the realization of what both of them had endured at the hands of a madman hitting him all at once. And yet, Harry was here with him, soft and warm, vibrant and bright. He pressed his hand against Harry’s chest and felt the life coursing through him, his own heart pounding in a shared rhythm. 

Draco thought, suddenly, _I have never been more alive in my entire life_. 

***

“Perhaps I should go home before any of the house elves awaken,” Draco said, untangling himself from Harry. “We will see if I can successfully sneak up to my bedroom without anyone noticing.” 

“Oh, I added your home to the floo here. If you do the same, you should be able to floo directly to your bedroom.” 

Draco paused and leaned over him. “You absolutely planned this entire thing.” Harry smiled bashfully, and Draco could not help but lean in and kiss him. “Scheming like a Slytherin.”

He shrugged. “The Hat almost put me in Slytherin.” 

“ _Really?_ ” He tried to imagine Potter — Harry — in Slytherin robes, in the Slytherin common room, in his Slytherin dormitory, and felt his brain turn to mush at the thought. 

“Yes,” he replied. Draco just had to kiss him once more, which turned into twice more, which turned into—

“Mmph, should you not be going?” 

Draco gave a rather undignified groan and pulled away. He dressed himself as best as he could while Harry watched from the bed, beautiful and unashamed in his nakedness, a siren tempting him toward the rocky shores. 

Harry stood when Draco shrugged on his robes, crossing the room to meet him. “Will you meet me back here tomorrow evening?” he asked softly, his green eyes bright with hope.

Draco nodded. “Yes.” He kissed him. “Yes,” he whispered before stepping back and heading downstairs to go home.

***

Draco spent the next several evenings with Harry. He would kiss his mother’s cheek good night, go through the motions of allowing Fitzy to undress him for the sake of appearances, and then haphazardly redress himself and throw a handful of powder into the floo to stumble into Harry’s bedroom at 12 Grimmauld Place. 

The nights were warm, pleasantly so at this point of summer, so they would lie on top of the bedding after losing themselves in each other, the moonlight shining across Harry’s collar bones and the divots of his hips. Harry never stopped touching him, tangling his fingers in his hair or caressing his arms or trailing his hands up and down his bare back. It was as though he could not get enough, and truthfully, neither could Draco. 

There was a freedom in that room that surprised him. It felt easy to not only allow Harry to touch and kiss every inch of him, but to also crack open his sternum and bare his heart to the man who had once been his greatest enemy. It comforted him and flummoxed him all at once.

“There was immense pressure from my father,” he said one night, his head pillowed in the crook of Harry’s arm. “To be perfect, to uphold pureblood ideology, to be a _Malfoy_.” He paused. “I know I was nasty as a child. Even now, after years of making a concerted effort to not be that person, kindness just... is not natural to me. And I think of how it all stems back to him and his horrid expectations, how he ruined our family and our home. How he isolated us for — what? For purity? And I bought every word of it, believed it without question until the Dark Lord’s return made everything too real and frightening to ignore.” 

He did not realize that his hand had fallen to the Dark Mark, covering its inky blackness as best as he could, until Harry pried his hand away.

“Draco,” he said with soft admonishment.

Draco turned fully on his side so that the tainted arm was hidden beneath his body. “No. It’s hideous. How can you even stand to look at it?” 

“Well, I cannot say it brings me joy, but—” he sighed, “the past isn’t going anywhere, as much as we would like it to.” 

“You keep saying that.”

“Maybe one day you will learn,” Harry responded, tapping his index finger against Draco’s nose. Then his face grew serious. “Draco, you’re not that person anymore, and if you were, I would not be here. I know who you were and I know what you have done. And I also know what you have done since then. If you continue to make the decision every day to right your wrongs and to make our world a better place, then that mark does not define you anymore.”

Harry’s words were comforting in a way, but was he doing enough to _right his wrongs?_ Was he now worthy of Harry’s affection and time and, most importantly, forgiveness?

“Every day? That is a tall order, Mr. Potter.” He attempted to jest, but his voice belied his uneasiness. 

Harry grabbed his hand. “Not with me by your side.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Darling—”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes an epistolary interlude, which I’d planned to do from the very beginning. What’s Regency without some letters thrown in, hmm? The interlude was very much inspired by the letters between Alex and Henry in _Red, White, & Royal Blue_ and between Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens.

  
  
  
A week later, Draco received another missive from Professor Bernard, this time with a request. 

“He is meeting with publishers in France and has asked me to attend,” Draco said. He was currently dining at Godric’s Hollow with Harry and his two faithful companions. It was his first time being in Harry’s presence around others since they had started seeing each other every evening, and it was admittedly difficult to keep his distance and his hands to himself. Harry kept looking at him with soft, mooning eyes, and he worried that his friends would figure things out at any moment. “He hopes that having a pureblood wizard with him may help his chances for publication. He has been turned down by so many thus far.”

Weasel huffed and took a drink of his wine.

“Do you have something to say, Mr. Weasley?” Draco asked. He could hear Harry sighing beside him, but it was not Draco’s fault that his friend was such an arse.

“Well,” Weasley replied, setting down his glass, “are you going to join him?”

Draco’s brows furrowed. “Yes, of course.”

He huffed. “Figures.”

Draco dropped his fork to his plate. “And what does that mean?”

“Just that I’m sure you jumped at the chance to preen about as a pureblood peacock.”

There was a cacophony of sound as everyone tried to speak at once, the noise matching the anger rising rapidly within him, but Mrs. Granger-Weasley, unsurprisingly, won out. “Hush,” she said, looking directly at her husband. “Mr. Malfoy is a pureblood of means and influence, and he should absolutely use his status to help out a worthy cause. Not doing so would be wrong.” Then she tilted her head towards Mr. Weasley and whispered, “what is wrong with you?”

“He is—”

“Ron,” Harry said softly. A flush crept up Mr. Weasley’s neck and his mouth tightened, looking thoroughly chastised. When Draco looked over at Harry, however, his face was pinched with unease. At one time, such a look would have made Draco smirk with utter delight, but now it made his heart sink.

Mr. Weasley opened his mouth to speak but Draco beat him to it, in hopes that they could put it to rest for Harry’s sake. “Do not worry, Mr. Potter. If I took offense at everything your friends said about me, I would live a rather miserable existence.”

Weasley looked at Draco for a long moment before placing his napkin beside his plate. “Excuse me,” he said and hastily left the room. His wife looked torn between running after him and staying to save face and patch things up. 

“I am very sorry, Mr. Malfoy,” she said. She looked down at her plate and then back to him. “I am sorry, but—”

“Please go ahead. Really.” 

She nodded her thanks, and stood to leave. He and Harry stood when she rose and watched her leave the room.

Harry looked at him, eyes shiny with frustration. “I do not know why I thought we could have a friendly dinner together.” 

Draco stepped forward and took Harry’s hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly as he was unsure of another way to comfort him. He did not know if he and Weasley would ever get along, and he did not want to make promises he could not keep. Not when everything felt so hopeful and new. 

The corner of Harry’s lip quirked upward in thanks. “When will you leave for France?” he asked.

“Tomorrow afternoon. I will be gone for a week or so.” 

“Ah,” Harry replied softly, looking down at their entwined hands. “I’ve already gotten so used to having you near.” He took a step forward and pressed their foreheads together. “I will miss you.”

A small smile graced Draco’s mouth at hearing those words. “We have the book. We will write to one another.”

“Yes,” Harry said before his brows furrowed. “Draco, I’m sorry about Ron.”

He shrugged in response. “Weasley and I share very mutual feelings for one another.”

“Feelings of disdain, you mean.” 

“Obviously. You once hated me too, you know.”

“Yes, but then we shagged.” 

Draco stepped back and splayed his hand over his heart. “Scandalous, Mr. Potter. What would the Wizarding World say if they knew you were so vulgar?”

Harry laughed, and then he leaned in and kissed Draco so fiercely that he conveniently forgot all about Mr. Weasley for the rest of the evening.

***

“Write to me,” Harry said when they parted that night.

“Of course,” Draco replied, and kissed Harry’s forehead as they said goodbye.

***  
  
  


**An Interlude of Correspondence Between Draco Malfoy and Various Persons Known to Him**

**Day 1**

> _Dear Harry,_
> 
> _I have just met with Professor Bernard for dinner at his home. He spoke to me in detail of the publishing troubles he has faced, and then we dined with his wife, daughter, and son-in-law. There was still light when I left, and so I_ Apparated _to the university for a walk. The winding pathways between buildings were lined with ivy-colored trellises, thick and green from the warm weather. I know those passages as well as I know Hogwarts’, and though I have only been gone for two months, a part of me felt as though I was seeing them for the first time._
> 
> _Have I changed so much in such a small window? Has your nearness and affection taken such a hold of me that I now see each part of the world anew? The fact that I have written these words before you is proof enough that they have. I have poured my secret affections for one Harry Potter onto a page that could be found by anyone curious enough to open this book, betraying every Malfoy sensibility I have ever been taught._
> 
> _I will betray them again and say: just knowing that tonight will be our first night apart is enough to make me mournful and ready to return to England._
> 
> _Yours in Yearning,_  
>  Draco

> _Dear Mr. Yearning,_
> 
> _I am glad that you have made it to Brittany without difficulty. Do you feel better about your professor’s chances now that you’ve spoken in depth? I hope that you will be able to help him._
> 
> _I have spent the day with Mrs. Figg and Hermione, working on some things for the charity. But it is difficult to concentrate when you are in my every thought. I can’t hope to share my feelings as well as you, as I do not have the same way with words, but I think of you always. I miss you always. I want nothing more than to be in our bedroom at Grimmauld Place. Just you and me, the only two people in the world._
> 
> _With my deepest affection,_  
>  _H_

**Day 2**

> _Mr. H,_ ,
> 
> _Perhaps I read those last two sentences over and over again until I fell asleep, or perhaps not. I am all alone in this tiny bedroom in Professor Bernard’s cottage, so there are no witnesses to testify one way or the other, Potter._
> 
> _I am awake far too early because the Bernards have a very excitable rooster who does not understand the importance of good sleep. But while I sit here in bed, writing this in our journal which is propped on my knees, I am thinking of what it would be like to wake up next to you. While I have never had the pleasure of sleeping by your side, you seem like the sort who could sleep through anything, even a very rude and unpleasant bird._
> 
> _I am unsure if I will be able to help the professor or not. As they do in England, purebloods hold a great deal of political power in France, but I cannot say if my advocacy will be enough to stand against the many pureblood families here._
> 
> _I must ready myself for our meetings now (without my valet, I will have you know)._
> 
> à Bientôt,  
>  _Draco_

> _Draco,_
> 
> _I am not at all the sort who could sleep through anything. Years of being at my aunt and uncle’s beck and call, nightmares and visions from the connection I shared with Voldemort, and months on the run during seventh year have all made me a very light sleeper, and that is if I can sleep at all. Even now, after several years of peace, I have trouble drifting off sometimes. I do not like to rely on potions, but sometimes it is necessary._
> 
> _I do dream of you at times. I always have, to be honest. Maybe I would sleep better next to you, though._
> 
> Bon chance aujourd'hui.  
>  _Harry_
> 
> _P.S., Hermione helped with the French!_

**Day 3**

> _Dear Harry,_
> 
> _I’ve just returned from our first meeting with a publisher. It lasted only 60 seconds before we were ushered out of the door and onto the street. Professor Bernard seemed to take it as well as one possibly could, though I would wager that he is quite used to rejection at this point in time. We have several more appointments throughout the week, so I hope that at least one publisher will see this for the important opportunity that it is._
> 
> _I did not realise that you had such trouble sleeping. Perhaps instead of our usual rendezvous at 12GP, you could spend an evening in my room when I return. A few silencing charms should keep us safe from the elves who are more loyal to my mother than they ever will be to me. We could test your hypothesis of whether you would sleep better at my side. We could test other things if you are agreeable..._
> 
> _In yearning once more,_  
>  _Draco_

**Day 4**

> _Dearest Mr. Malfoy,_
> 
> _What other things? What ever could you mean?_
> 
> _Harry_

> _Harry,_
> 
> _It is a good thing you are so handsome._
> 
> _If you really need me to spell it out for you, let us see… I could get you nice and slick and open for me, and then we could test to see how quiet you can be when I press inside of you. I am not sure if you are aware of how noisy you are when you are lost in the throes of pleasure. I would wager that the sensation of being filled for the first time would make you absolutely senseless._
> 
> _Gods, how I want you. Just the thought is enough to make me bothered and uncomfortable, and I have to leave for an appointment soon._
> 
> _Thinking of you always, even at my own detriment,_  
>  _Draco_

> _Draco,_
> 
> _I refuse to take your bait as you tease me, and I will not apologise for… the levels of my loudness. However, reading those words have made me very preoccupied, and I have lost all ability to concentrate on the tasks before me. I cannot believe I have several more days until I can kiss and touch you again. Will I see you the night your return?_
> 
> _In other news, I saw young Teddy today, and he asked if we could write you a letter since you are away in France. Expect an owl within the next day or two._
> 
> _With all of my affection and desire,_  
>  _H_

**Day 5**

> _My darling son_ ,
> 
> _I hope this finds you well. Life is quiet here without you at home. Even though I was alone for years while you were at university, I have already gotten used to your presence again. I am grateful to have had several callers, including Mrs. Burke — who smelled of an entire apothecary — and Mrs. Greengrass, who was very interested in when you will meet with Miss Astoria again. Do make an effort to see her when you return, Draco. I know that plans take time, but you have not done much to secure an engagement nor to begin the process to return us to Malfoy Manor. I did speak of the manor in passing to Mrs. Greengrass, and she said that Mr. Greengrass may be able to assist us in that endeavor. He not only has connections within the Wizengamot, but he may be able to secure a temporary reprieve from the order that would allow us to visit the property while the order is under review._
> 
> _It is not difficult to see that a match with Miss Astoria would be agreeable and advantageous in many regards, darling. She is a lovely young woman, and you have said yourself that you find her pleasant and amiable. Think of your future and the future of the Malfoy line, and remember the many things that the Greengrass family can offer us._
> 
> _Best wishes to you and your professor this week. I hope your meetings are successful. Please remember what I said and be sure to act smartly and wisely. Try not to upset things too much._
> 
> _With love,_  
>  _Mother_

> _Dear Mama,_
> 
> _Thank you for your well wishes. Our endeavors have not yet been fruitful, but we continue to press onward._
> 
> _That is a pleasant surprise about the manor. I do reluctantly agree that the Greengrasses would be an advantageous family to whom the Malfoys could align. On the other hand, I sincerely did not anticipate to complete the entirety of the plan in such a short time, and with the exception of aiding my professor, my schedule has been full with appointments for the Patronus Charity. I am sure that once the ball is over, I will have more time available for courtship. However, I will write to Miss Astoria when I return and ask for a meeting to ease your worries._
> 
> _Yours, etc._  
>  _Draco_

**Day 6**

> _Dear Cousin Draco_ ,
> 
> _I am spending the day with Uncle Harry today! He took me flying again, and even got me my own flying robes! He won’t let me ride my own broom yet but it was still fun. He says that you come here sometimes to fly too, and maybe we can all do it together one day! Maybe you can teach me how to catch a snitch! How many snitches have you caught?_
> 
> _I hope you’re having fun in France!_  
>  _T E D D Y_
> 
> _P.S., Harry here. Teddy wants you to know that I wrote the letter for him, but he signed his name. Be sure to look at the enclosed artwork created by our master artist._

> _Dear Mr. Lupin,_
> 
> _Thank you very much for the letter and the drawing. Your likeness of Mr. Potter is uncanny; I am not sure if I have seen it done better. It would be a delight to join the two of you next time you visit so that we can fly together. Though I could not possibly put a number to the snitches I have caught in my lifetime, I am sure it is more than Mr. Potter can claim. I am also sure that you will be such a talented seeker that you will catch even more than us combined!_
> 
> _Yours,_  
>  _Draco Malfoy_

> _Dear Harry,_
> 
> _I am writing after another day of rejections. Perhaps it was naive of me to think that the scientific community would value such an important finding more than they feared pureblood outrage. Of course, having been surrounded by purebloods my entire life, perhaps I should have known better. It is disparaging to see Professor Bernard become less hopeful as the days pass. He is a kind man with a brilliant mind, and he deserves better._
> 
> _Is this too impossible of a mission? Is the Wizarding World not ready for this revelation?_
> 
> _I wish you were here with me. You seem to always know the right thing to do._
> 
> Tu me manques.
> 
> _Yours,_  
>  _Draco_

> _Dear Draco,_
> 
> _I believe your confidence in me is a little unfounded. I am often at a loss as to what the right thing to do is. However, I have been lucky enough to have good friends by my side who give me advice, who correct me (even if I do not wish to hear it), and who have saved me more times than I can count._
> 
> _In that vein, even if I don’t know the right thing to do, perhaps I can still offer help as a friend. Or, to state it more correctly, perhaps I can enlist the help of another friend. Would you and your professor be willing to meet in Brittany in two days’ time? I have an inkling that she may be the solution to your problems._
> 
> _In hopes of seeing you soon,_  
>  _H_

***

Draco fussed with his hair once more, sweeping it away from his forehead. It was an unusually humid day for Brittany, which was tucked along the eastern shore, even for the summer. He felt a trickle of sweat fall from his hairline and down the collar of his shirt. He grunted in irritation and cast as strong of a cooling spell as he could muster. Weather charms had never been his strong suit, and he would usually sequester himself at home during particularly hot days in lieu of letting anyone see a Malfoy be anything other than perfectly pressed. 

Today he did not have a choice since he and Professor Bernard were to meet Harry and his mysterious friend. Of course Harry had seen him sweaty and unkempt from a… variety of physical activities, but he was still resentful that he would not look his best at their reunion. 

He descended the narrow stairs of the Bernards’ cottage, and saw Mrs. Bernard sipping a cup of coffee in the small sitting room. She was a rather thin woman, with brown skin, and her hair was covered by a soft green scarf, which complimented her yellow dress. 

She smiled at him. “Good morning, Mr. Malfoy,” she said in French. “There is more coffee available if you would like some.”

He shook his head. “It is too warm for a hot beverage, but thank you.”

“There is breakfast on the table,” she responded. He nodded his thanks and crossed into the next room where Professor Bernard was already digging into his eggs and khobz. 

“Good morning, Professor,” Draco said before sitting and spooning food onto his plate. “How are you feeling?”

“I am fine, Mr. Malfoy, I am — well, I feel much more optimistic than I have all week. Though, truth be told,” he said with an anxious chuckle, “I am rather nervous to meet Harry Potter.” Professor Bernard was a large man with dark skin, broad shoulders, and a softening belly. He wore a pair of spectacles, which were always perched low upon the bridge of his nose, as if he were perpetually more interested in reading whatever manuscript might fall before him than looking at the room around him. 

“I would not worry yourself. He is —” _just Harry_ “— just a man, like the rest of us.”

“I know that in theory, and yet.” He dipped bread into a broken yolk and took a bite. “What is he like?” 

The question surprised Draco. It was easy to forget that there were people all over the world who had not been subjected to Harry Potter in one way or another for the last three-and-twenty years. “Well, he has always been brave and loyal and all of those other annoyingly decent traits. Determined.” He lip quirked upward. “Stubborn. Self-sacrificing to an aggravating fault. And now that we’re older, much more quiet and private than when we were boys.”

“More stubborn than you are?” Professor Bernard asked with a hearty laugh. “I assume your opinion of him must have changed a great deal since boyhood.” Bernard knew of Draco’s past. He had seen Draco at his lowest point, dusted him off, and given him mentorship and guidance. He had shown Draco how even the mysteries of the Wizarding World could be explained through research and science. He had had no preconceived notions of the Malfoy family and had neither eyed him warily nor shamelessly groveled when Draco had begun his studies. Even after Draco had told him everything, he had still given him a chance to learn and grow into the person he was trying to become. Draco would always be grateful for the kindness Professor Bernard had shown him.

‘Mr. Malfoy?” his professor asked, and Draco realised that his mind had wandered. “I asked if your opinion of Mr. Potter had changed since boyhood.”

“Oh,” Draco replied, color tinging his cheeks. He hastily looked at his plate. “Yes, one could say that.”

***

When Draco and Professor Bernard arrived at the cafe in the Wizarding hamlet of Paimpont, Harry was already sitting at a small table in the corner of the room. And Luna Lovegood was at his side. She saw them before Harry did, and she stood up with a soft smile on her face.

“Mr. Malfoy,” she said, causing Harry to look up and meet Draco’s eyes. He looked so beautiful, and Draco could not believe how good it felt to see him after a mere week. Harry smiled brightly and did not seem to care at all that Draco sweaty and flushed and a hot, melting mess.

“Miss Lovegood,” he said, his eyes meeting hers, “this is an unexpected surprise! May I introduce you to my professor and mentor, Mr. Henri Bernard. Professor, this is Miss Luna Lovegood.” They nodded to each other and exchanged pleasantries. “And this is Mr. Harry Potter.”

“It is an honor, Mr. Potter,” the professor said. Draco did not hear him speak English often, and he could not help but notice the lilt of his accent.

“Likewise! I am happy to make your acquaintance. Mr. Malfoy has spoken of you more than once.” 

“Oh,” he responded after a soft gasp, visibly touched at hearing it. “Well that is…” he trailed off, and Draco, knowing that his professor was easily embarrassed from praise of any sort, attempted to head it off.

He put a hand on Bernard’s shoulder and urged him to sit. “Let us discuss business, shall we?” 

The moment he sat down, he felt Harry’s foot hook around his ankle. How strange that, even through dragonhide boots, the touch was enough to quicken his pulse. He pressed back and saw Harry smile minutely. 

They ordered drinks and an assortment of sandwiches, and then Harry leaned forward. “Professor Bernard, Mr. Malfoy has told me about your research and your endeavor to have it published. While I do not have any friends in scientific publishing, Mr. Malfoy and I are both friends with Miss Lovegood, whose family owns their own printing press. Their monthly magazine, _The Quibbler_ , has often been the only voice of truth when others were too afraid to publish it.” 

Bernard’s gaze fell to Miss Lovegood before smiling. “I have copies of the manuscript here, which have been translated to English.” He grabbed his portfolio and placed one copy in front of Miss Lovegood and another in front of Harry. “There is a brief summary on the first page, which essentially states that there were no findings in the study that pureblood magic was stronger than magic found in the blood of muggleborns or half-bloods, and I am happy to answer any questions now or later by owl or by floo.” He was perched so close to the edge of his seat that Draco feared he might fall into the table. 

“We would love to publish this,” Miss Lovegood said. “If your schedule has time within the next couple of weeks, we could schedule a meeting to discuss the contract. You could come and see the printing press for yourself, as well.” 

“Really?” he asked. “Surely you need to review it first. You must have questions.”

Her eyes brightened and she shook her head. “No, I have no questions.”

Bernard scoffed in disbelief before looking to Draco with raised brows. Draco shrugged and nodded; how was he to know how Luna Lovegood made decisions? His professor laughed and rubbed his hand together in glee, and his face was so jovial that Draco could not help but smile in response. “Thank you so much, Miss Lovegood. And Mr. Potter.”

“Of course,” Miss Lovegood responded. “It is a worthy publication and the world deserves to know of your findings.”

“We should have held this meaning in a place that serves alcohol so we could properly celebrate together.”

“We can always change locations, professor,” Miss Lovegood replied.

“First round on me,” Harry responded, while Bernard attempted to get the server’s attention.

Harry looked up and caught Draco’s eye, and Draco nodded. “Thank you,” he mouthed.

Harry leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “Anything for you.”

***

“Are you sure this is the right way?” Harry asked.

“Yes, Potter. I am not _that_ drunk.” 

Miss Lovegood giggled. “Are you sure?” 

They had spent the entire afternoon in a nearby tavern, getting further into their cups as the day progressed. Professor Bernard had eventually said farewell to return home to his wife, but Miss Lovegood had asked if they could visit the Tomb of Merlin. Draco had taken one look at his compatriots leaning against each other with lazy gazes and soft grins, and decided that none of them were in any state to Disapparate. So they had walked to the Forest of Brocéliande, and by the time they had arrived, Draco’s cravat was loosened at his neck in a poor attempt to cool himself. 

“It is too hot,” he cried out, tugging at his collar. It was approaching dusk, and the forest was quiet around them.

Harry stepped to his side, and pulled gently at his robes. “Then take these off.”

Draco’s jaw dropped. “Potter, we are in the presence of a _lady_.”

“She wants to see you in shirtsleeves as much as you want to see her in a shift,” Harry replied matter-of-factly.

Draco whipped around, his eyes darting furtively between Harry and Miss Lovegood. “Do you mean—”

Miss Lovegood nodded, and then Draco’s brandy-addled mind somehow remembered her comments about pining at Harry’s birthday party, and he wished that he knew who held Miss Lovegood’s affection.

Harry’s hand was still at the collar of Draco’s robes, and he carefully rubbed his thumb against his neck. “She had already figured out our secret,” he whispered. Well, of course she had; she had made that apparent at the party. Plus Draco’s own pining when they met for tea could have been seen from the heavens for anyone inclined enough to pay attention. “Now,” Harry continued, stepping back and removing his own tailcoat. “Miss Lovegood, have you fainted in shock from seeing me in such a state of undress?” 

She laughed. “I am as awake as one can be.”

Harry looked at Draco meaningfully, cocking his head in anticipation. Draco gave a very loud sigh and took off his robes. Harry took them and his own coat, shrunk them, and placed them in the small pocket of his waistcoat. He reached forward and finished unwrapping Draco’s cravat until it hung loosely at his neck like a scarf before doing the same to his own. “There. Now where are we headed?” 

“Over here,” he said pointing to the left. The ground was soft beneath their feet, still damp from yesterday’s heavy shower. 

“I have wanted to visit here since I was a girl,” Miss Lovegood said with a grin of excitement. 

“Oh?” Harry asked.

“There are many stories about Merlin’s fate and his resting place. Even muggles have their own tales.”

“That is true,” Draco said. “The local muggles here believe that the Lady of the Lake despised Merlin and cruelly entrapped him under the tomb.”

“My mama always told me that Nimue — the Lady of the Lake — and Merlin were lovers. They lived here in the Forest of Brocéliande, and after a long life together, Nimue buried him close to the lake where her spirit resides.”

“Her spirit is still here?” Harry asked.

“I have never seen her,” Draco replied. “But some supposedly have.” 

They reached a clearing a few moments later. The sun had set, but there was still enough light to see the tomb before them. There were two rows of boulders nestled closely together, with five, chest-level stones in each line. Bridging the rows were thin slabs of rock perched upon each pair of boulders, and at the front stood one final stone with a pointed peak.

It may not have seemed like much to a muggle, it was indeed a primitive structure, but to a wizard, it was sacred. 

They were standing at the clearing line, at least 100 feet away from the stones. Harry closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again. “I can feel its power from here,” he said. Then he laughed. “Would it be disrespectful to exclaim ‘Merlin’ at his own tomb?”

“Really? You can feel it from there?” Draco asked. He had only felt the magic of the stones up close.

“Oh, um, yes?” Harry said, as though he were suddenly self-conscious about his ability. Of course he could feel it; Draco should’ve known that would be the case when he brought one powerful wizard in front of another. A small, green part of him rendered its head to be upset at this revelation, but he pushed it down with a deep breath, and then another. This was Harry. _His_ Harry. 

“Just wait until you touch the stones themselves,” Draco said, pulling himself out of his thoughts. He took Harry’s hand and walked toward the tomb, motioning for Miss Lovegood to follow. He suddenly felt swirls of magic as he and Harry moved forward, brushing against his skin, urging him to move closer. His brows furrowed; the magic had not felt this way in any of his previous visits. “It feels different.”

“In a bad way?”

Draco thought for a moment before answering. The magic _was_ pulling him closer, but not as a snare. It was more like an embrace. “No. No, not at all.” It beckoned them closer and closer until they stood before the center stone. And even though Draco wondered if he were making a mistake, he obeyed both the magic and his own desire and placed their entwined hands upon the rock. 

A cloud of soft light emerged from the stone beneath their palms. The forest began to awaken to the sound of a low hum — trees standing taller and flower buds peeking from the soil. Draco heard Miss Lovegood gasp behind him, and he looked up to see dozens of fairies rousing from slumber to come closer, their tiny bodies vibrating with delighted anticipation. Small bubbles of light popped into existence and began to drift around them in a lazy dance. 

“Is this new as well?” Harry asked, his face alight with wonder as he looked around the forest.

“Definitely,” Draco responded, confused and flummoxed at the bizarre display before them. A Malfoy was not trusting by nature, and therefore he was a tad bit worried that they had walked into some sort of trap. “Perhaps the muggles’ tale is true, and Nimue will soon arrive to bury us under the stones right next to Merlin.”

Draco would never know if it had been her name on his lips, or simply their presence that had called her, but a woman, bathed in ethereal, blue light, suddenly glided toward them from the edge of the clearing. Long hair floated behind her and her gown swirled gently as though touched by unseen currents. Her right hand held a large, glistening sword, angled toward the ground. His previous statement had mostly been in jest, but now it seemed to be an omen. He tried to take a step backward, but Harry squeezed his left hand to stop him.

“Wait,” Harry said softly. His gaze was locked on her — The Lady of the Lake — with his shoulders squared, waiting for whatever this meeting might bring. Draco’s right hand subtly moved toward the wand at his hip. 

She came to rest right before them, and her gaze fell first to Draco and then Harry. Her eyes trailed to their entwined hands and she looked at them once more, her face turning into a slow, knowing smile. She raised her sword, and as Draco’s grip tightened on his wand to prepare for attack, the weapon was hoisted over her head and slid into a sheath at her back. Then Nimue placed one hand against Harry’s cheek and another against Draco’s. The touch felt as though he were awash by a lulling sea, yet it, strangely, reminded him of every time Harry had touched him in the same manner, so gentle and affectionate, giving Draco more than he could ever hope to deserve. 

He thought of every moment they had ever shared together, from scorned handshakes to warm embraces, from riding brooms to escape fiendfyre at Hogwarts to catching snitches at Godric’s Hollow. He thought of their first kiss in the grassy field, the way Potter’s gaze would soften while lying next to him in the moonlight, the deep ache that Draco had felt while they were parted. The beautiful drumming of his pulse every time he saw him. 

And it was then that Draco realised.

Gods, he loved him. _He loved him._

His heart suddenly soared in his chest, and he felt his body rise with it. He wondered, briefly, if he were leaving Harry behind, but no, Harry’s hand was still in his. He turned to face him, so focused upon him that he did not realize that Nimue was no longer touching them as she hovered just out of reach. 

Tears threatened to spill down Harry’s cheeks, and Draco reached forward with his free hand to wipe them away. He smiled at Draco softly and then pressed their foreheads together. Draco closed his eyes and focused on the way that their bodies felt together, the way their magics felt together, earth reaching to fire, a flame that could burn forever if the world would let it.

If the world would just _let it_. Would it not be beautiful, to have a life full of love and joy with the only person who had ever brought him happiness? To live together? To grow old together? But how could it happen when they lived in a world where Draco’s duties and responsibilities to his family would never allow him to love the person before him? No matter how much he loved him, Potter could never be the partner he so desperately wanted him to be.

All of the sudden, he began to slowly fall to the earth.

“Draco?” Harry asked as their hands slipped from each other. As Draco moved farther away, his body accelerated its pace toward the ground, magic no longer holding him up as gravity finished the job. “Draco!” Harry cried out as Draco fell, his hand reaching out for him. He glided down quickly after him, reaching for him when his feet touched the earth.

Draco looked up and saw Nimue coming closer again, her brows knit together in confusion. She went to reach for him again, and he pushed her away weakly. “No,” he said, cradling his head in his hands. “No I cannot.” He took a shuddering breath. “I cannot go through with whatever—” he gestured widely, “ — ritual upon which we have stumbled.” 

Slowly, the Lady backed away until Draco could no longer see her, taking all of the light and fairies with her until they were alone in the dark.

Draco heard a whispered _Lumos_ , and saw light emit from Miss Lovegood’s wand. He had forgotten that she had even been there. “I feel that you two may need a moment,” she said. “I will return to the path. Please cast a light to the sky when you are ready for me to find you again.” Then she curtsied and left them alone. 

Harry kneeled down before him. “Draco,” he said, “what’s the matter?” Draco shook his head. “Draco. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He shook his head once more. “I cannot do this.”

“Do what?”

“This!” he shouted, gesturing between them. He took a shuddering breath which turned into a choked sob. “Harry, I have duties. To my family. I have to—” he took another deep breath. “When I returned to England from university, my mother and I concocted a plan. To try to right our wrongs and restore the Malfoy name. We planned to donate money to important charities, to reenter society through advantageous social engagements, and—”

“A plan?” Harry asked, leaning back in surprise. And then he laughed humorlessly. “Of course there was a plan. Of course. And I was just… a pawn in a game to manipulate the Wizarding World into forgetting the evil your family has done.”

“No! Yes, no, that isn’t. Harry, please let me continue. There was a plan, but you were not specifically a part of it. I had no intentions of using you in any way.” 

“And yet you have.”

“No, at least not intentionally,” Draco responded, reaching for his hand. “I swear it.” He paused for a moment. “My mother added a final goal to the list, which I have never wanted. You must know that I _never_ wanted it. However, as a pureblood gentleman in society, I have a duty. To produce an heir.” Harry clenched his jaw, and his eyes turned stormy with anger. Draco’s voice shook as he continued. “There have been discussions with another family about marriage.”

“No,” Harry spat, pulling his hand away from Draco’s. “No, no, no.”

“Harry, you know that I have no attraction toward women. Even before we met again, I did not want this. And then you came into my life again and turned everything upside down. Suddenly you were in my every thought and dream. I wanted nothing more than to be with you, and I allowed myself to yield to temptation, to forget my duties, to cherish the time we could have together. To, to lo—”

“Don’t,” Harry cried, tears spilling down his cheeks. “Don’t.”

“Darling—”

Harry staggered backward as though he had been struck. “ _Don’t!_ I thought you had changed. I stupidly believed that you were no longer the same spoiled, selfish prick from childhood.” He looked down, and Draco was unsure if he should try to reassure him or take another course of action.

“Harry?” he whispered. A question. A plea. A hope for anchor in a wretched storm.

Several moments passed before Harry looked at Draco with melancholy in his eyes, shaking his head. “Thinking back, it is my own fault for believing it. For how many disappointments in my life have involved you as the common thread?”

Then he stood and turned and Disapparated right before him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End: Oof, I would say I’m sorry, but your pain brings me the slightest bit of joy. O:-) I promise to make it all up to you in the next and final chapter. It may be a bit late as I’m still working on it. <3 
> 
> You can visit the [Tomb of Merlin](https://tourisme-broceliande.bzh/en/lieu/merlins-tomb/) in Brittany, though most of it was destroyed in the late 19th century.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I miss you. I know I should not, but I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wait is finally over! Enjoy! :)

  
  
“Mr. Malfoy?” There was a hand at his shoulder nudging him. “Mr. Malfoy.” Draco was still on his knees, and when he looked up, he saw Miss Lovegood standing before him. “Are you alright? So much time has passed that I became worried that something had happened.” She looked around. “Where is Mr. Potter?”

“He left,” Draco responded. His voice was hoarse from crying.

“Oh,” she said softly. She sat before him in the grass and grabbed both of his hands. “You do not have to tell me what happened, but I am here for you if you wish to speak on it.”

He shook his head. “I ruined everything.” Then he huffed. “As I am wont to do.”

“We all make mistakes.”

“Not like this.” He realised that he was trembling. “And not you. You would never.” He squeezed her hand. “You are too good.”

She tilted her head and reached to cup his cheek. “One day, Mr. Malfoy, you will see the good within yourself.” 

He laughed sadly and rolled up his left sleeve, where the stark blackness of the Dark Lord’s symbol would always reside. “Can you not see, Miss Lovegood? This will haunt me for the rest of my miserable life, and even if there were good inside of me, it would be buried so far down that it would never see the light of day.”

Her face creased with either sympathy or pity, and he was not inclined to receive either, nor was he sure he was in the mood for Luna Lovegood’s omniscient observations and life advice. He was about to make that sentiment known when she suddenly stood and offered her hand.

“As much as I would enjoy arguing that point, perhaps we do not have to do it in the middle of the forest after dark. Where are you staying?”

He took her hand, his body protesting after being on his knees for so long. “With the professor.”

“All right. I feel sober enough to Apparate, but I do not think it would be wise for you to do the same. What is the address? You can side-along with me.” 

Draco opened his mouth to do so and then stopped. “To be perfectly honest, Miss Lovegood, I would like nothing more than to go home.”

She squeezed his hand. “Then it is very lucky that I have a portkey back to England.”

***

A lurching trip by portkey and an Apparition later, they arrived at the steps of his home under the cover of darkness. If he would have been in his right mind, he would have been worried about appearing in the middle Horizont Alley, half dressed with muddied trousers while accompanying a lady with grass-stained robes. It looked as though they had just returned from a rather enthusiastic dalliance. He was not at all in his right mind, however, and instead, he stood on his doorstep waiting for Miss Lovegood to open the door while he slumped against her pitifully. 

“Mr. Malfoy, are you able to let us in? Or shall I ring the bell?”

“Right,” he said, reaching for his wand to undo the wards. They stepped inside and closed the door behind them. He did his best to bow but he was still slumped against her. “Thank you, Miss Lovegood. You have dutifully returned me home and now you are free to return to yours.”

She shook her head. “I think you should have a cup of tea first.”

His brows furrowed. “I do not want to wake up the elves.”

“I can make it for us,” she replied. She inquired as to the whereabouts of the kitchen, and when they made their way there, she started to make a pot of tea. Draco sat at the work table with his head in his hands, feeling as though something had reached within him and carved out his insides. He was hollowed. Emptied.

Circe, how had he messed everything up so terribly?

“Mr. Malfoy?” she said. He looked up and a serving tray was in her hands. “Where shall we take this?”

He led her to the drawing room, where she poured them both a cup of tea. They were side-by-side on the chaise, and she handed him a cup before taking one for herself. “I added valerian root to help you sleep,” she said. He nodded his thanks and took a sip. “Noxberries would have been better, but they are hard to come by in this part of the world.” They drank in silence for a few minutes. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Draco took a deep breath and shrugged. “I fell in love with Mr. Potter when I should not have. Not when I must marry someone else and secure an heir.”

“Oh,” she replied in a very small voice. The sound of it — just that one syllable — gnawed a pit in his stomach. Her pity had been bad enough; her disappointment was even worse. 

He averted his eyes. “Miss Lovegood, I should probably try to sl—”

“Well I assume you are not yet betrothed.”

He shook his head. “No, but it is imminent.” He set down his teacup. “Wait, why do you assume?”

“In the forest with Nimue. It looked to be some sort of bonding ritual. She never would have given her blessing if you were promised to someone else.” She took another sip of tea. “If your heart had belonged to someone else.” 

Draco’s elbows fell to his knees and he cradled his head in his hands. “It does not matter to whom my heart belongs. I have an obligation to my family.”

He heard the clink of her tea cup being sat upon the tray, and he felt her hand rest upon his arm. “What about the obligation to yourself? To your own happiness?”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I have been selfish enough, have I not?” 

She was silent for several moments before speaking again. “And what of Mr. Potter’s happiness?”

Her question wrenched a sob from his chest, ugly and loud, and suddenly, all he could think of was the look of anger on Harry’s face in the forest. He heard her whisper, “oh, dear,” and then she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, his head falling to her chest. She held him as he continued to cry, and her fingers, light and cool, brushed his temple and combed through his hair. 

She did not shush him. She did not tell him it would be alright. She simply held him, and for that, he was so very grateful.

***

“Good morning.”

Draco squeezed his eyes shut, not wishing to be awake yet. His head was pounding and he felt positively miserable; could Fitzy not realise that just by looking at him? “Mmph, not yet. Come back in an hour.” 

“I can see very clearly why you might be tired, darling, but is that any way to speak to your mother?” 

He peeked an eye open and realized exactly where he was: lying on top of Miss Lovegood on the chaise, muddied and half dressed, with his mother standing before them.

“Oh, _Circe_ ,” he exclaimed and yanked his body away from Miss Lovegood and leapt to his feet.

“Mr. Malfoy?” she asked, opening her eyes, which very quickly grew to the size of saucers when she saw his mother. “Oh.”

“Oh, indeed,” Mrs. Malfoy replied. Her gaze turned to Draco. “So it _was_ one of Mr. Potter’s friends, I just guessed incorrectly.”

“Mama,” he said, “I know what this looks like, but—”

“Miss Lovegood,” she interrupted, “I would like to have a conversation with my son. Perhaps it is time for you to go home.”

Miss Lovegood stood, her eyes darting back and forth between Draco and his mother. She did look a mess. Her robes were still stained from the forest floor, and her hair was disheveled from sleep. What a sight they must have made.

He cleared his throat. “Thank you, Miss Lovegood. I will write to you soon.” She gave a tight smile, her discomfort at the situation apparent, and she curtsied before leaving the room. 

“Sit down,” Mrs. Malfoy said. She sat herself in the armchair next to the chaise and looked at him expectantly until he did as he had been told. “Draco, she is… not ideal.”

“Mama—”

“Her friendship with Harry Potter is her only saving grace. Her family is absolutely mad and always has been.”

“Mother—”

“Their little magazine. _The Quaffler_?”

“ _The Quibbler_ \--”

“Not worth the parchment upon which it is printed. And,” she stopped after a sudden gasp, “please tell me you used a spell to prevent conception.”

“Merlin’s beard, mother, Miss Lovegood and I have _never_ , nor would we ever.” He barked out a laugh. “The thought alone.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Then what on earth did I just witness?”

Draco sighed. “Simply a friend helping in the aftermath of poor decisions and a broken heart.” 

Her face softened the smallest fraction; not enough for most people to notice, but Draco could see it very clearly. “What has happened?”

He shook his head. “It does not matter now.”

“Draco,” she said softly.

He looked at her, his beautiful mother who had always loved him without expectation or condition. Even though his position in life had required him to do and be many things, he knew that her love and support would never waiver. Would it be so wrong for her to know? 

“I am not in love with any of Harry Potter’s friends,” he finally said. “I am in love with Harry Potter himself.”

She was very still for several moments. “I see.” She stood and sat down next to him on the chaise. Her hand clasped his gently. “Draco—”

“I know, mama. I know.” He looked down at their entwined hands. “I know what is expected of me. I have already ended things.”

Mrs. Malfoy cupped his face gently. She looked at him for a moment, giving a soft, sad smile. “I wish we lived in a world without sacrifice, without pain.” She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “I wish for many things darling; most of all your happiness. I am sorry.” 

He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, knowing that responding to her in any way would open the floodgates of his misery.

“I am so sorry,” she repeated, this time a mere whisper. 

He squeezed her hand and took a deep breath; the smallest attempt to ready himself for the future before him.

A future without Harry.

***

 _I miss you,_ he wrote in their book three nights later. _It is not fair of me to say it, but I miss you._

There was no response.

***

The days passed in a dreary fog. He did what was expected of him: he met with Miss Lovegood and Professor Bernard about the publication, he invited Miss Astoria for tea, he wrote another cheque to the charity to cover the latest expenses for the ball (delivered by owl to escape any uncomfortable rendezvous). Then, when his duties were complete, he would go home and lock himself in the library, where he would sometimes think of reading but would never muster the energy to do so.

The nights were the most difficult. Was the floo connection still open, he wondered. Could he step through and arrive at 12 Grimmauld Place? Would Harry be waiting for him if he did?

_Why in Merlin’s name would he be waiting for you?_

***

“How long has it been since you have last been here?” Mr. Greengrass asked. They were walking the winding path to the gates of Malfoy Manor to check off the second-to-last item on their plan. Mrs. Malfoy was with them, as well as two aurors sent to keep an eye on them. He should have expected that; there was no such thing as a trustworthy Malfoy in the eyes of the Wizengamot. 

“It has been years now. We were only allowed to collect a few personal belongings after the trial,” Draco responded. The rest had been seized. It probably would have taken a dozen curse-breakers weeks to get through all of the Malfoy wards to take everything, and he wondered if any were still in place. 

“Ah, here we are,” Mr. Greengrass said as they approached the gate, as if Draco would not know where the entrance to his own home would be located. He motioned for the aurors to come forward to undo the wards. As they did so, Draco looked through the iron barrier before him and saw that the grounds that had once been expertly cared for were now overgrown and in disrepair. Weeds poked out of the gravel path before them, and the grass to either side must have been knee-high. He wondered what happened to their peacocks. 

“The wards have been disarmed, Mr. Greengrass,” the auror to the left said, and Mr. Greengrass stepped to the side and motioned for them to come forward.

“After you,” Mr. Greengrass said.

Draco looked at his mother, who nodded at him, and he reached forward and opened the gate for the first time in four years. It swung open with a moaning creak. The path stood before him, though it did not seem very welcoming. Still, he offered his arm to Mrs. Malfoy, which she took, and they walked side-by-side up the path until they reached the manor.

It was a cloudless, sunny day, and the manor’s dark facade looked out of place against the bright, blue sky. Draco’s eyes roamed over its stones, noticing that it did not seem to be in any sort of disrepair. Perhaps the Ministry had kept the anti-decay charms intact.

They waited for the aurors to disarm the wards on the manor itself, and then they stepped inside. The foyer was completely empty. Gone were the plush rugs and chandeliers and ancestral portraits. Draco took another step forward and heard his boot echo in the empty hall.

“Would you like to look around?” Mr. Greengrass asked.

“Yes, thank you,” Mrs. Malfoy replied and stepped forward into the next room, pulling Draco with her. _Oh_ , he thought when they entered. This was the room where Draco had been brought forward to identify Harry when his face had been hexed almost beyond recognition. It was also the place in which the Dark Lord had subjected him to the Cruciatus curse over and over the night that he had failed to kill Dumbledore. The following room was where he had watched his aunt torture Mrs. Granger-Weasley. Two rooms down was where he had watched the Dark Lord kill Charity Burbage and feed her to Nagini. And these were the steps to the dungeon where they had held a number of prisoners, including Miss Lovegood. 

The upstairs quarters fared no better. There was the hallway, where he had heard all manner of cries and screams in the months that the Dark Lord resided there. There was his bedroom, where his mother had held him as he had trembled from the Dark Lord’s hexes. There was the balcony, where he had seen his father—

“Draco?” his mother said. She turned to look at him with worry in her eyes. She grabbed his hand. “Take a deep breath, darling.” He did not realise, until she said that, that he had been breathing shallowly. His hands felt clammy. There was sweat at his hairline. She leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “We do not have to do this.” She looked around and huffed, her lips curling in distaste. “We... do not have to do any of this.”

He nodded, feeling tremendous relief at her words.

“Mr. Greengrass?” she called out behind her, waving her wand over Draco to no doubt make him look normal again. 

“Yes, Mrs. Malfoy?”

She gave him a big smile. “I am truly so appreciative that you brought us here here to check on the state of the home. It does seem to be in good shape, does it not?”

“Indeed! In fact—”

“I do think we have seen enough of it at this point. We are ready to leave as soon as you are.”

His brows furrowed in confusion. “Are you sure you do not wish to see the rest of the house?”

“I am quite sure,” she replied and walked arm-in-arm with Draco down the stairs and out the door of the manor. He heard Mr. Greengrass behind them, and Mrs. Malfoy turned to face him. “Thank you so much for your time and for convincing the ministry to let us visit. Please tell Mrs. Greengrass that I will call on her within the next few days!”

He smiled, though obviously still confused. “Gladly. And we hope to see you again soon as well, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco plastered on the best look of anticipation he could muster. “You will. I look forward to it.”

Then they walked through the gate and Disapparated, appearing at the steps of the place they currently called home. “Quelter!” Mrs. Malfoy called when they stepped inside. She removed her gloves and Draco did the same.

“Yes, madam?” the elf replied after popping into existence right before them.

“Please have Vinxy bring us tea.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Actually no, have Vinxy bring us coffee. And firewhiskey.” She handed the gloves to Quelter, and began to make her way to the drawing room. 

Quelter bowed while Draco followed her, tilting his head in confusion. “Of course.” 

“And purchase a gift for Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass. I will write a note to accompany it. It should arrive by this evening.”

‘Quelter will fetch a gift within the hour,” he said before disappearing with a snap.

“Mother?” Draco asked once inside the drawing room. He still felt shaken from the manor and so he sat quickly upon the chaise. “What is happening?”

“Are you alright?” She asked, sitting next to him, her eyes roaming over his face.

“Yes. I am fine, really. Why are you acting like this?”

She stood and paced the room for several minutes before speaking. “I saw the way you looked in the manor. And I knew right then that our time with the Dark Lord has forever ruined that place for you. Even if it has been our home your entire life, it has been ruined. And then I asked myself why getting the manor back had been so important. And of course, I believe we both missed the home where our family had lived and you had grown up, but I think I had been fixated on my own vision for you — my son as head of Malfoy Manor with a wife and a child of his own.” She stopped walking and sat beside him again. “But you are rich enough to buy a grand estate of your own if you wanted. And,” she took a deep breath, “with a reversal of disownment, you would also have an heir.”

Draco’s eyes widened.

“The son of a werewolf, of course,” she continued with a sigh. “But a Black nonetheless.”

“Mama—”

“And if you already have an heir, then there is nothing holding you back from being with the person you actually love.”

“Mama,” he repeated, feeling dizzy with… hope. He had not experienced one positive emotion since Harry had left him in the forest, and the feeling was overwhelming.

It was then that Vinxy arrived with coffee and Firewhiskey, and Mrs. Malfoy poured a hearty mix of both into the coffee cups. “Drink up,” she said, before taking a sip of her own. Then she walked across the room to the bureau where she retrieved parchment and paper, and she handed them to him.

“What is this?”

“Well, we need a new plan, do we not?”

***

_It is a truth universally acknowledged that a besotted wizard in possession of a broken heart will do anything to win back his lover’s affections._

And Mr. Draco Malfoy, besotted wizard whose heart had certainly been broken (perhaps even by his own actions), had a plan. It read as follows:

> _1\. Narcissa will introduce Astoria Greengrass to an excellent match, and Draco will inform her of his intentions for another._

It took a great deal of scheming, but Mrs. Malfoy pulled together a dinner party that included four single wizards who would make advantageous matches for Miss Astoria, as well as six other guests to not awaken too much suspicion.

“It’s clever, though a bit sneaky,” Miss Lovegood whispered beside him. Her gloved hand curled around a glass of wine. Miss Astoria had not yet arrived, but three of her would-be suitors were already in the salon. 

“Yes, that is what happens when you befriend a Slytherin, Miss Lovegood,” he responded. “We have much the same cleverness of Ravenclaws, but we actually put it to good use.”

She rolled her eyes, though her smile betrayed her.

“Have you chosen your house for the ball?” he asked.

“Mm, yes. Hufflepuff! What about you?”

“It is a surprise.” 

She elbowed him gently. “I told you mine; it would only be kind if you did the same.”

“I promise two dances to make up for it,” he replied. “Unless Miss Clearwater will be attending and you will be too busy dancing with her? Did she accept your invitation to accompany her?” Miss Lovegood had shared with him last week over tea at Madame Joylove’s that Miss Clearwater had been the maiden who had caught her eye at Harry’s party.

“No,” she said with a frown. “It seems that Miss Clearwater is not quite over Percy Weasley.”

“Ah. Well, that is her loss.”

She bit her lip. “Are you saying that because she has lost me or because Percy Weasley is a loss?”

He grinned. “Both.” 

They were interrupted by Quelter announcing Miss Astoria’s presence, and when she entered, adorned in delicate, white robes with pearls woven into her hair, he heard the smallest gasp from Miss Lovegood. He turned to look and saw her cheeks turning pink.

“Oh?” he asked.

She tore her eyes away from Miss Astoria and looked at him. “I only vaguely remember her from school, and I was... struck by how lovely she is.”

Well then. He did not know if Miss Astoria was attracted to women, but he figured it was worth an attempt. He grabbed Miss Lovegood by the wrist and brought her to where Miss Astoria was standing. Mrs. Malfoy was already there greeting her.

“Good evening, Miss Astoria, thank you very much for joining us,” he said.

She curtsied. “Of course. I am happy to be here.”

“Do you remember Miss Luna Lovegood from school?” 

Miss Astoria smiled. “We were not well acquainted, but how could I forget such beautiful hair? It is lovely to see you again.”

“Thank you,” Miss Lovegood responded, her cheeks getting even redder. “Your aura is shimmery. Did you know that?”

“Shimmery?”

“Yes, it sparkles. Like starlight.”

Draco saw that Mrs. Malfoy was about to interrupt Miss Lovegood’s very awkward attempt at flirting, and so he grabbed her arm. “Mother, may I take a moment of your time?”

He led her to the drawing room and closed the door. “Let us move Mr. Travers and put Miss Lovegood beside Miss Astoria at dinner.” 

“That defeats the purpose of this match-making scheme.”

“I am not sure that it does,” he said with a meaningful look.

“Draco, the idea was that we would introduce Miss Astoria to matches of wealth and status so that she would have other advantageous prospects available when you broke the news to her. Miss Lovegood, as delightful as you may find her for reasons I have yet to understand, has neither of those things.”

He shrugged. “Maybe Miss Astoria does not need an advantageous prospect. Maybe she needs someone good. Someone who would love her for who she is. Which is something I never could have provided her.” 

She sighed and looked at him for a moment, her mouth taut with displeasure. “Very well. This is your plan after all.”

“Thank you, my darling, wonderful, beautiful mother,” he replied with a kiss to her cheek, and called for Quelter to change the seating arrangements.

***

It was warm in the house with thirteen guests inside, and so Draco removed himself to find a few minutes alone on the balcony. The doors were open, and he could still hear laughter and conversation from the cards tables inside. Dinner had gone well, and Miss Astoria had spent much of the time in conversation with Miss Lovegood and Mr. Shafiq. He did not know whether she would choose any of the people they had invited tonight, but he took small comfort in the fact that they had tried.

“Ah, it is nicer out here,” a voice called behind him. He looked and saw Miss Astoria was walking toward him.

“Much nicer,” he responded. “Are you enjoying your evening?”

“Yes, thank you. It has been lovely.” She leaned against the guard rail and looked up at him. “Though I am trying to piece together a puzzle.”

“Is that right?” he asked.

“Yes, see, I know that our families have been in talks about a possible future together. Perhaps I would not call it courting, but we have been circling around each other in some way the last couple of months. Then tonight, I arrive here, and there are several single wizards in the market for a wife, not to mention Miss Lovegood being very attentive. And, well, we are fellow Slytherins. I know a scheme when I see one.”

He huffed a laugh. “We are often too smart for our own good, are we not?” She nodded with a grin, but then her face turned serious. Expectant. “Our families _have_ been in talks, and for a while I thought that I may one day ask for your hand in marriage. But the truth is, Miss Astoria, that my heart belongs to someone else. At first, I thought it would be an impossible match, but I have hope that that is no longer the case. And it would be unfair to both of us if I promised myself to you when I loved someone else.”

She looked down and nodded. “And so you planned a matchmaking dinner.”

“Yes, in hopes that someone would catch your eye and you would feel less pain when I walked away. Miss Lovegood was merely an additional guest but if she has caught your eye, well, you could pick no finer person. She has, somehow, become my closest friend.”

“She _is_ handsome. And amiable. If a bit odd.” She laughed. “There is a dream-like quality to her, and I would be lying if I said I was not intrigued. My mother would hate it and would never forgive me for not ensnaring you as a husband and for pursuing a woman as poor as we are, but bothering her has merit all on its own.” He joined her in laughter, amused at the idea of Mrs. Greengrass in a fuss (which he would never have to deal with again). “Mr. Shafiq is nice too. He is interesting and wealthy, though I do not care about that as much as my mother does.”

“I am sorry that things did not work out between us,” Draco said, grabbing her gloved hand with his own. “You are a truly wonderful witch, and anyone would be lucky to have you.”

She gave him a sad smile. “Thank you. You did not have to do all of this. The dinner and the suitors. It was kind of you.” She paused for a moment. “If I may be frank, you have become… much kinder since Hogwarts. I am glad I have gotten to know this version of Draco Malfoy. I like him very much.”

He did not know how to respond to that, and so he deflected. “Well this version of Draco Malfoy would still like to ask for a dance at the ball if you have a spot available.”

“I do.”

He kissed her hand. “Then I look forward to it.”

***

> _2\. Prepare for magical reversal of the disownment of Andromeda Black Tonks.  
>  3\. Converse with Andromeda Black Tonks about naming Edward “Teddy” Lupin as the Malfoy heir._

“How are you feeling?” Draco asked.

His mother was at her vanity table while Lokey finished curling her hair. Aunt Andromeda would be calling within the hour, and Draco had just finished getting ready himself. She looked at him through the mirror. “Conflicted. Anxious. I was not the one who disowned her, but I still agreed with the decision at the time. I still refused to see her and call her my sister.” She wrung her hands in her lap. “I hate that I know that this should have happened years ago, and the truth is that...” she trailed off.

“Lokey, would you please leave for a few minutes?” Draco asked, hoping that Mrs. Malfoy would feel more comfortable if they were completely alone. 

“Yes, sir,” she responded, disappearing with a pop. 

Mrs. Malfoy was silent for several moments before she continued. “The truth is that I loved Andromeda very much. I was always closer to her than I was to Bella. Bellatrix had been our parents’ favorite child, and Andromeda and I had each other. But when she met Mr. Tonks… I felt betrayed. A muggle?” She huffed. “We were Blacks, for Merlin’s sake. And Bella latched onto that betrayal and fed off of it, and, well... you know the rest.”

“This is your chance, though,” Draco responded, “To make it right. But we should still prepare for the possibility that she does not want us as family. Even if we reverse the disownment so that Teddy can inherit everything, it may take her time to accept us.” She nodded. He came behind her and squeezed her shoulders. “I have recently learned that the very annoying thing about doing the right thing is that it does not always work out to our advantage.”

Mrs. Malfoy smiled at him very fondly. “Sometimes I forget that you are not my little boy anymore. Even if we disagree at times, I am so proud of you and the man you have become.”

He returned her smile, and felt the pinprick of tears at the corners of his eyes. “I am proud of you too, for learning, for trying to do the right thing.”

“Hmm, it feels positively horrid though.”

He barked a laugh. “I know it does.”

***

Mrs. Malfoy poured three cups of tea. “Do you — Do you still like milk?” she asked. 

Mrs. Tonks nodded. “Yes, I do.” Her back was as stiff as a board, and she looked as uncomfortable as Draco felt.

“How is Teddy?” Draco asked after his mother handed him his tea. 

She looked the smallest bit relieved to focus on a safe topic. “He fell out of a tree yesterday, but he is just fine. St Mungo’s tended to him, and he is right as rain now.”

“Little ones have a tendency to fall into that sort of trouble,” Mrs. Malfoy said. “Or even bigger children who are reckless on the quidditch pitch.” Her eyes fell to Draco. 

“I survived every game of Quidditch, and I have no doubt that Teddy will do the same.” Then he smiled at his aunt. “But Aunt Andromeda, Teddy is part of the reason why we have invited you here.”

“Is it?” she asked.

He looked at his mother and she nodded for him to continue. “I would like to name Teddy as my heir.”

His aunt’s teacup landed against her saucer with a clang, and a bit of tea spilled on her robes, causing her to gasp. 

His mother leapt forward, brandishing her wand to quickly vanish the mess. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she replied. “I am just... surprised. And confused. Do you not plan to have children of your own?”

He shook his head. “I do not. And with a reversal of the Black family disownment, we would be family again, and Teddy would be my closest living relative.”

Her eyes darted to Mrs. Malfoy. “A reversal of the disownment?”

His mother nodded. “Mother and Father did not just disown you in name alone. You were magically warded from the family to ensure that you could not inherit our wealth if the rest of us passed.”

Mrs. Tonk’s nostrils flared. “Of course they did.” She set down her tea cup. “And I suppose you are suddenly doing this out of the ‘goodness of your heart?’”

“I will speak frankly,” Draco responded, “and say that removing the necessity to have a child of my own does benefit me greatly.”

“I am sure you are aware that Mr. Potter is Teddy’s godfather. If something were to happen to me, Teddy would be adopted and cared for for the rest of his life. We do not need your inheritance.”

“I understand that,” he said, leaning forward. “But that is the thing. The reason why I do not want to worry about having my own child is because I want to marry Harry Potter.”

“Oh,” she said, her posture relaxing the smallest amount.

“And, Gods forbid, if something did happen to you before Teddy came of age, he could be adopted by both his godfather and his benefactor and we could raise him together.”

She paused for a moment before speaking. “Has Mr. Potter accepted your proposal?”

“I have not yet asked for his hand. I am trying to ensure that everything is in place before I do so so that he will be less inclined to refuse. We... are not on the best terms right now.” 

“Yes, I know. Teddy asked about you the other day and Harry told him you were no longer friends.”

He knew that it was the truth, but her words still felt like a dagger to the gut. He took a shuddering breath. “Yes, I — I am attempting to mend our relationship. And securing an heir is a part of that.”

She looked at Mrs. Malfoy. “And what are your thoughts? Do you approve of accepting the wife of a muggle back into your family?” 

“I… am trying to move past that type of thinking.”

“Really?” Mrs. Tonks asked. “Years after abandoning me for pureblood supremacy.”

“Andie—” 

“Our sister murdered my daughter. Your Dark Lord’s pet wolf murdered my husband. And I do not hear a word from you until you need something from me.” Her voice was sharp and unyielding, until she looked over at Draco. She deflated instantly. “Excuse me, Draco. I do not… include you in this,” she said softly.

Draco was unsure of how he should respond.

“Darling, perhaps you could give us some time to speak alone?” his mother asked. 

He nodded and gave a slight bow to his aunt before exiting the room. At first he waited in the hall for a few minutes until he realised it might be a while until they finished. So he escaped to the library, though he was unable to do anything except nervously fidget and think about everything he had just heard. 

He was ashamed to admit that he had never considered the extent of the terrible loss his aunt had endured, and almost all of it by his own family. For the first time in his entire life, continuing the legacy of his family seemed incredibly misguided. What good had the Blacks and Malfoys brought to the Wizarding World? Even if his aunt did not agree to their plan, he was unsure if he would even want to have his own child.

“Mr. Malfoy?” Quelter asked with a knock at the door. “Your mother is ready for you now.”

When he returned to the drawing room, both women looked worn and exhausted, with red-rimmed eyes and splotchy cheeks. He sat next to his mother and looked at both of them expectantly.

“I do not believe in laying the wrongdoings of the mother upon her children,” Mrs. Tonks said. “I hope that I am never judged on the deeds of my parents, Draco, and therefore I will not do the same to you.” She held up a hand when she saw he was about to speak. “That is not to say that I think you are blameless. However, from what I have heard from Mr. Potter, I believe you have been trying to rectify that.” She nodded toward Mrs. Malfoy. “I do not know what the future will hold for your mother and me, but I am willing to reverse the disownment and to give my blessing for Teddy to become your heir.”

Draco rose then knelt in front of Mrs. Tonks, taking her hand in his. “Thank you, Aunt Andromeda. Truly, I am forever indebted to you.”

“If you would like to start visiting Teddy as well, I am sure he would like that very much.”

“So would I,” he said.

Draco and Mrs. Malfoy had found several rituals to reverse the disownment, but with both parties in agreement, the quickest and most painless option involved the mixing of blood and an incantation. Draco held the palm of his mother’s right hand open and nicked it with a dagger, watching as the blood rose to the surface. He did the same with his aunt’s hand, and then the two sisters stood side-by-side.

He stood before them and pressed their palms together. He pointed his wand where they were joined and then repeated the incantation he had memorised the night before. Words of reunion, family, and blood. His mother looked directly at him, his aunt looked at their entwined hands, where tendrils of red magic bound them together as he spoke. With the final word, the magic quietly dissipated, and when they held their palms upward, the skin had been healed. 

Draco stepped forward and hugged his aunt for the first time in his entire life. “Thank you,” he said again, happy to not only have an heir, but to have family, too. 

***

> _4\. Apologise to Harry Potter and ask for his hand in marriage._

Draco woke up, nervous but determined because it was the day in which he had planned to knock on the door of Godric’s Hollow and make things right with Harry Potter. He had purchased new robes for the occasion, his hair and sideburns were freshly barbered, and, as he watched Fitzy slide the new robes over his shoulders, he admitted that he looked rather dashing. Surely that would sway Harry even the smallest amount?

He went downstairs to join Mrs. Malfoy for breakfast. “You look very handsome this morning, darling.”

“Thank you, mama,” he replied, sitting down next to her. He was gathering himself food when the _Prophet_ ’s most terrible owl swooped in and dropped the paper right on top of his buttered toast. “You know, I am not going to let even you ruin this day for me.” He put a plate of sausages in front of him. “Take as much as you want, you insufferable vagrant.” The owl hooted and grabbed a piece in his beak, several more in his claws, then flew out the window. 

“He will never leave you alone now,” she said. 

“We are a little less hated these days. A complaint to the _Prophet_ would not be so terrible. Maybe we can be done with him once and for all.”

She smirked. “You would miss him. Do not pretend otherwise.” 

“I will admit no such thing,” Draco replied, and removed the paper from his toast to _scourgify_ the butter from its pages. 

***

The Malfoys had had Harry’s calling card since the night the Golden Trio joined them for dinner, so Draco knew that Godric’s Hollow should allow callers today between one and four in the afternoon. And while he would usually never arrive at the moment someone’s calling hours began, desperate times did indeed call for desperate measures. At one o’clock, Draco arrived at Harry’s estate and passed through the gates as they were opening. He walked the gravel path to his home, and stood before the front door. Everything he had done within the last fortnight had led up to this moment. And so, with a nervous inhale, he rang the bell.

A minute passed and then the door opened to Kreacher standing before him. “Mr. Draco, it has been so long since Kreacher has seen you.”

“Yes, I have been, uh, otherwise detained. Is Mr. Potter taking callers? I am hoping to speak with him.”

“Just a moment,” Kreacher said, stepping aside to allow Draco into the foyer. 

Draco stood there for at least ten minutes, feeling more awkward and uncomfortable as each minute passed. Was Harry considering whether he would come down? Was he making him wait as some sort of revenge? What could possibly be taking so long?

It took another few minutes until he heard footsteps, and then Mrs. Granger-Weasley entered the foyer.

Draco took off his hat and bowed. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Granger-Weasley.”

She cleared her throat. “Mr. Malfoy, we appreciate you calling today, but Mr. Potter is not accepting visitors right now.”

His heart fell. “Of course. Could I call upon him at another time?”

She squared her shoulders. “You do not deserve to see him. Not today or any other time.”

Draco could feel tears beginning to well at the corners of his eyes, and he clenched his jaw in hopes of keeping them in check. “Mrs. Granger-Weasley—”

“You hurt him,” she said shakily. “You used him. I asked you not to and you did.”

He nodded. “I do not deny it. I do not. However, I truly wish to make amends.”

“You led him on!” she exclaimed.

“Ah, so you know,” he replied quietly. “About... us.”

“I knew before he told me. Mr. Potter is not very subtle.” 

Part of him wanted to laugh because it was true. Mr. Potter was not subtle whatsoever, and it was one of the reasons he loved him. “It was not my intention to lead him on, but I know that I did.” She said nothing in response, and he was unsure how to move forward. “Should I remove myself as host of the ball? Should I not attend?”

“It would not be much of a unity ball if you and Mr. Potter were not there in unity. Though, perhaps your family should cut ties with our charity once the ball is over.” 

Draco nodded. “Of course.” He put on his hat. “I apologise for taking up your time, Mrs. Granger-Weasley.” Then he left, finally letting the tears fall when the door closed behind him.

***

Draco stared at the canopy above his bed as he had done every night this week. Sleep was hard to come by when his heart was in so much turmoil that he did not know how he would ever rest again. Knowing he had to see Harry at the ball tomorrow while everything was still such a mess tied his guts into knots.

If only Harry had seen him for just a moment, just long enough to apologise, not even to try to woo him or fix things. He wondered if Harry missed him, if he thought of him, or had his anger been enough to drive Draco from his thoughts completely?

Draco lit the candelabra by his bed and looked at the book resting upon the side table. Whenever he would feel particularly maudlin, which was more often than he would admit to anyone, he would open their book and read all of the things they had said to each other. It would both comfort him and make him sadder, the paradox of memories of lost love.

He was already unable to sleep, so he grabbed the book and opened to one of the letters Harry had written him during his week in France.

> _I think of you always. I miss you always. I want nothing more than to be in our bedroom at Grimmauld Place. Just you and me, the only two people in the world._

The idea of never visiting 12 Grimmauld Place again, of never touching or kissing Harry within its walls, made the ache within him even worse.

He eyed the fireplace on the other side of the room and asked himself the same questions he had asked so many times. Had the floo connection been disconnected? If he could not have Harry, could he perhaps have one last moment in the place they shared together?

It was technically trespassing, but, well, Draco had never cared much for rules that did not benefit him, and Harry himself said that no one ever used the house. He glanced at the floo once more before standing up and heading to the wardrobe. He put on a pair of trousers and a shirt and threw robes over the bare ensemble. He debated whether he would even need shoes, but if he were to be arrested for his deeds, he would prefer to not be barefoot. So he pried on his boots before crossing the room.

Draco stood before the floo and closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths. When he felt ready to continue with this foolhardy plan, he grabbed a fistful of floo powder, stated his destination, and walked through the emerald flames. 

He arrived to darkness, and whispered _”Lumos”_ so that he could see the empty salon before him. Stepping inside, he thought of the moment when he had given Harry his present in this room, when they had kissed and held each other before making their way upstairs to be together for the first time. He had known then that their time would be fleeting, and while he regretted hurting Harry, he could never regret the small amount of time they did share together. 

He followed the same trail that they had that night, and so many nights afterward, and climbed the stairs to the landing. The bedroom door was closed, and when he opened it, he saw that a candle was lit on the side table.

And Harry was lying in the bed, asleep.

Draco gasped before he realized that the sound was leaving his mouth, and when he did, Harry sat up and looked at him with bleary eyes. His brows furrowed in confusion.

“Draco?”

“Yes. Yes, gods, I’m sorry, I should not be here.” He turned around and started to descend the stairs.

“Wait!” Harry called from behind him. Draco swiveled in place to see Harry at the landing, putting on his glasses. His legs were bare beneath his nightshirt. He looked vulnerable. He looked — beautiful. “What are you doing here?”

“I just… I wanted to come here one last time,” he said, an uncomfortable wave of embarrassment building in his gut. “I thought it would be empty. I did not know that you — I’m sorry again. For intruding.”

Harry started at him a moment before speaking. “I have slept here a couple of times since… since everything.” 

Draco nodded, unsure of what else to say. 

“The — the bedclothes still smell like you.” 

“Harry,” Draco said so softly he did not even know if Harry heard of. 

He sighed heavily. “I miss you, Draco. I know I should not, but I do.” 

“Darling,” he responded without thinking. And though that word had pained Harry the first and last time Draco had said it, this time he simply closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. Draco climbed the stairs until he was standing before him. 

Harry opened his eyes and looked directly at Draco. They were so green, like a meadow after the rain, and Draco could happily get lost in them until time passed them by. “I wanted to see you the other day. Hermione and Ron… well they are very persuasive when they want to be.” He huffed. “They talked me out of it.”

Draco nodded. “They care about you.” 

“I know.”

“May I,” Draco said, his fingers itching to grab Harry’s hand but he stopped himself in case it was too forward, “may I tell you what I had planned to say when I tried to call?” Harry nodded, and Draco took a deep breath. “Harry, I know that I hurt you. That I used you. Even if it had never been my intention, I still did it, and I will always be sorry for that. 

“Since we parted, I have done everything in my power to remove every obstacle standing in the way for us to be together. I told the woman to whom I might have married that my heart belongs to another.” Harry’s eyes flashed when he said it, and it made Draco’s heart leap. “My mother and I introduced her to several people in whom she could find advantageous courtship, so that I would not leave her abandoned. She was good-natured and understanding and any person would be very lucky to have her.”

“But _you_ will not have her?” Harry asked.

He gave a small, reassuring smile. “No, I will not.”

“And the heir?”

“Well,” Draco said, “it took a bit of persuasion, many tears, and a ritual spell performed by the man before you now, but Andromeda Tonks has been reunited with the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and your godson is now the Malfoy heir.” 

Harry’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Draco,” he said, almost in disbelief. But then his face grew serious. “Is this the end of the Malfoy line?” Harry asked.

“Oh, no. I have a few distant cousins throughout Europe who can worry about populating the earth with more spoiled purebloods.”

Harry rolled his eyes and then reached forward to trace the collar of Draco’s robes. “So what happens next?”

“That is up to you. If the pain I have caused you is too much to overcome or if you have moved on since we parted, please say so and I will make my leave.” He paused to allow Harry to respond, but he continued to look at Draco expectantly. “If that is not the case, I told you our first night here that I was yours. I meant it then,” he said, “and I mean it now.”

Harry reached up and touched his face gently. “And I told you I would tease you as long as you would have me.”

Draco exhaled and smiled, his heart full of elation and relief. “I was thinking forever. As my husband. If you are free.”

Harry took a trembling breath and then grinned. “I am otherwise engaged tomorrow evening, but I will check my schedule for availability.”

Draco laughed and then leaned forward and kissed him. Harry melted into his embrace, and it felt so good, so _right_ , like they were always meant to find each other, right here, in this place in time. 

*** 

“I love you,” he whispered against Harry’s bare skin. Harry looked so gorgeously undone beneath him, and Draco could hardly believe that they were here together.

Harry smiled at him, and cupped Draco’s face in his hands. “I love you,” he said.

And then their bodies pressed together and they found each other all over again.

***

“Draco, you should be downstairs to receive guests in five minutes,” he heard his mother call from the door. He had returned home very late in the morning, and after telling her the good news (with the more scandalous parts excluded), she allowed herself half an hour of excitement and wedding planning before they needed to go to Godric’s Hollow to finish the final touches for the ball.

He did not see Harry when he arrived; he had apparently pulled his friends together to tell them the news, and to, no doubt, deal with Weasley’s ire. Draco realised that he had essentially traded Mrs. Greengrass’s obnoxiousness with Mr. Weasley’s loathing, but it was certainly worth it to be with Harry. 

“Has time caught up with us that quickly?” Mrs Granger-Weasley asked. Draco had not seen Harry, but his faithful friend had just pulled Draco aside to speak with him. She was in navy dress robes, and her hair was adorned with feathers. 

“It seems so.”

“Well, I will simply say that I truly do hope that you and Mr. Potter will be happy together. He told us everything you did so that you could be with him, and I can see that for the act of love that I believe it is.” She paused for a moment. “You did, however, hurt him, and so my trust can only go so far. And if you ever hurt him again, this is a reminder that I am a very smart and powerful witch and I promise to make you miserable for as long as you live.”

“Mrs. Granger-Weasley, I would expect nothing less.” He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “Now, may I accompany you to the ballroom?” He extended his arm. She looked at him from the corner of her eye for a moment, and then took his arm and walked downstairs with him. 

When he entered the ballroom, he saw his mother, also in navy robes with a sapphire eagle pendant at her neck, and he saw that she was talking to Harry.

Draco stopped in his tracks. Harry was… stunning. Draco recognised the style of his dress as Indian, and seeing him dressed so beautifully made hunger swoop in his gut. Harry was in a long, dark green, buttoned coat that fell to his knees, which was covered in small, intricately embroidered silver snakes. He wore three strands of pearls, and a silver shawl was draped over one of his arms. His silver trousers were tapered at the ankle, and his shoes, the same color as the coat, were pointed and curled at the toe. 

Harry looked up at him and gave that big, beautiful smile that always made Draco’s chest flutter. “Good evening, Mr. Malfoy,” he said.

“A Slytherin, Mr. Potter?” Draco replied, reining in his desire to . “Who knew you had it in you?”

His eyes trailed over Draco’s own ensemble. “Says the Malfoy in Gryffindor. I suppose we will always be at odds.” 

Draco himself was wearing garnet-coloured dress robes, lined with buttons shaped like the heads of lions, and his gold, silk waistcoat was woven with garnet brocade.

“Do not say you are at odds, Mr. Potter,” Mrs. Malfoy said. “Would that not defeat the purpose of this event?”

“Of course. Mr. Malfoy and I promise not to quarrel for the entirety of the evening.” 

Draco laughed. “I would like to show everything to you, Mr. Potter, if you would accompany me. And then I promise, mama, we will play perfect hosts.” 

He grabbed Harry’s arm and escorted him away from Mrs. Malfoy. While the ballroom was a sight to behold — filled with beautiful flowers, delicate crystal and china, and intricately painted house banners — he was more interested in speaking with Harry one-on-one. “You look incredible,” he whispered the moment they were far from prying ears. “How did I end up betrothed to such a man?”

“Not to give you more airs than you need, but you are quite handsome yourself, you know.”

Draco grinned and rested his gloved hand against his chest, feeling pearls and fabric beneath his fingers. “This ensemble is beautiful.”

Harry smiled. “Thank you. I had the kurta made for the occasion but the dupatta,” he stopped, nodding at the shawl draped over his shoulder, “was my father’s. I found it when we moved into the estate.”

It warmed Draco to know that even if Harry had never known his magical family, he at least had their home and history right here with him.

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy,” a voice called in the distance, and Draco looked up to see Miss Lovegood walking toward them. Her robes were a sunny, golden yellow and trimmed with black velvet. A badger sat upon her shoulder, but Draco could not tell if it was taxidermied or handmade. With Miss Lovegood, there was no way of guessing. Her eyes moving between them before smiling. “I guess the plan worked?”

“Indeed,” Draco responded, greeting her with a bow. 

“Oh, so there was a plan?” Harry asked.

“Of course there was. I _am_ a Slytherin, Potter.”

“Not tonight, you are not. And do not think I have forgotten our bet. Five galleons to the house who wins the charity cup.” He chuckled. “It does amuse me greatly to know how hard you will be working to ensure that Gryffindor snatches it.”

Draco rolled his eyes and walked off. “Perhaps we should play host now, yes?”

It did not take long for Godric’s Hollow to fill with guests, conversation, and laughter. He kept a weathered eye on the house points hourglasses to see who was winning (Ravenclaw, unfortunately), and made his way around the room to mingle with the crowds. 

It seemed as though Mr. Weasley, in Hufflepuff attire, was trying his best to steer clear of Draco. Harry and Draco had not yet discussed living arrangements, but considering the greatness of Harry’s estate and its ties to Harry’s family, Draco assumed that he would join Harry here to live. If so, he supposed he and Mr. Weasley had a lot to do to find common ground. But Draco would not worry about that tonight. That was a problem for Tomorrow’s Draco. 

Dinner arrived, and Course after course was served under the light of floating candles. Draco sat next to his fellow Gryffindor for the night, Miss Astoria, and with a bit of gentle persuading, she admitted to seeing Miss Lovegood twice since their last dinner. 

“Will you dance with her tonight?” he asked.

She nodded with a grin. “Yes, I do think I will.” 

“I am glad for you both,” he responded, hopeful that his two friends would find happiness in each other.

When dinner ended, the tables were cleared away to make room for dancing. Drace tapped his fingers nervously against his leg while he waited. In just a few minutes, Harry would say a few words to begin the dancing. However, Harry did not know the final item of Draco’s plan.

> _5\. Dance at least three dances with Harry Potter to inform society of their engagement._

He knew it would be a shock to their guests: two gentlemen of means, one of whom was a pureblood, who had chosen each other over family duty. Yet he thought of Harry and Miss Lovegood and felt more kinship with them than he had with most of his family outside of his mother. He thought of Teddy, too, who was now promised a good life and even more family to support him, and he felt completely at peace with the decisions he had made. 

Draco saw Harry making his way to the dais to give his speech, and he reached forward and grabbed his wrist to stop him. 

“Mr. Potter,” he said. “I was wondering if I may have your first dance of the evening?”

Harry looked around. “Really?”

“Yes. And as many dances as you will afford me after the first.” His gloved thumb brushed Harry’s bare wrist. “I did not know when you wanted to tell the world, but I am ready when you are. And I would happily tell them tonight.” 

Harry looked at him for a moment, his eyes brimming with love and affection. “Then we will,” he responded and squeezed Draco’s hand before stepping upon the dais. The musicians finished their song and, when the room fell silent, everyone turned to look at Harry.

“Good evening,” he said, “We are honoured to have you here. We have come together tonight to raise funds in order to promote unity within our society: unity between houses at Hogwarts, and unity between all magical beings. We added a bit of competition because we know that Hogwarts graduates enjoy friendly games, but I hope that this exercise encourages all of us to think of the world around us from the viewpoint of other people, especially those less fortunate than us. 

“Draco Malfoy came to me with the idea of working together because if he and I could put our differences behind us for the greater good, then surely anyone could do the same thing. It has not always been easy, and we have had to face our bitter history more than once, but we stand here together to work toward a more understanding and united Wizarding World. I hope you will join us in that work and tonight as we commence the dancing portion of the evening.”

Draco held out his hand as Harry stepped down from the dais, and the moment their hands touched, silence fell over the room. He could _feel_ everyone’s eyes upon them as they walked toward the dance floor, and nervousness built within him like floodwaters as each second passed. It felt like they were alone for an eternity until he heard someone finally join them. He peeked and saw Miss Lovegood and Miss Astoria behind them, and then Mrs. Granger-Weasley and Mr. Weasley joined as well. Miss Lovegood gave him a reassuring smile, and, finally, other couples joined them until the dance floor was full. 

The music began, and Draco’s eyes found Harry’s. So many uncertainties still hung overhead: how the Wizarding World would react to their betrothal and his professor’s publication, how Draco would be able to live with Ron Weasley, how Harry and Draco would navigate their caustic history and love one another until their last breaths. But somehow, looking at Harry and seeing the strength in his eyes, seeing the _love_ there, too, was enough. 

And as their palms touched and they turned about the room, Draco thought they could probably get through anything as long as they did it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end, my friends. Thank you so much for reading. I have enjoyed writing this so much — thinking about how the Wizarding World would be in the Regency Era, Draco and Luna becoming unlikely friends, Draco trying to be good even if it does not come naturally. I especially enjoyed writing Narcissa, as I believe many of us can relate to having family with outdated views who need nudges in the right direction, and who may never completely understand things, even if you still love them. 
> 
> I told my friend, Rachael, many moons ago, about Draco and Harry “coming out” through dancing, and she drew [this](https://twitter.com/rachmorganart/status/1205916460004057088) up for me for Christmas last year. Thank you, sweet friend!
> 
> Thank you to [anisstaranise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anisstaranise) for helping me brainstorm and figuring out how to shape this chapter. And thank you, again, to [221brosiewilde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/221brosiewilde/pseuds/221brosiewilde) for betaing and to [inkpen4877](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkpen4877) for the sensitivity reading. You've both been so much help, and I'm so appreciative!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading so far!
> 
> You can find me over on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sablier_bloque)!  
> If you've enjoyed this story thusly, I'd greatly appreciate a [retweet](https://twitter.com/sablier_bloque/status/1283166852663967744)!


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